Blackbird
by cursethemoon
Summary: Everyone has their own place in the world. Sooner or later, every stray will find their way home. E/C; post musical.
1. Misplaced

**A/N:** **Nothing much to say! Just hello and I hope you enjoy this. This is a newbie. I've written a couple of chapters and will try and update as often as I can. **

**** I thought it would be best to say something, now that were are approaching a little more of the story, and I wasn't as lazy as I was when I first posted this.**

This story is all set five years after the dramatic ending of ALW's musical. I know it doesn't deserve a sequel - but I'm stubborn. Anyway, there is a child - a child hater (that's Erik) - and Christine. Raoul is... well. You'll find out soon. No 'Beneath a Moonless Sky' dandy dandy here because come on...that was just ridiculous. The child is Raoul's. Anyway, the story is all about friendship and true love and how it battles the secrets & truths that will challenge it.

The pace is slow - so if you are expecting Christine & Erik smooching already. You will have to wait a bit, I'm sorry. There is no 'hot' Erik here - Erik is deformed and heavily so (because I want Christine to find beauty in it. You know? There's no point of him being deformed if he's hot anyway.) Christine looks like Jennifer Love Hewitt. I'm serious. I don't know why but when I had this idea, it was her that popped into my mind**. Plus I can't imagine Emmy as a mother. **There are no Giry's (not yet for a little while) - so yeah, SORRY GIRY FANS. There is a Nadir (because Erik has to have a friend, right?) - and a lot of extra OC's here and there.

Have fun reading. I will finish this story. If I don't - poke me, please?

**Disclaimers: I own nothing you recognise. Blackbird is from the Beatles. This is ALW based mainly. AU, because of Love Never Dies.**

* * *

><p><em>Blackbird singing in the dead of night,<em>

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly..._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Misplaced<strong>_

The day had been met with fresh, senseless rainfall.

It almost reflected the thoughtful, reflective expressions that scratched the faces of the huddle of people that surrounded the grave. No sound echoed through the place - only the bleak thud of the rain splatters hitting the umbrellas and the ground. There was the occasional demoralizing sob and hiccup of sadness – but overall, it was silent. In fact, parting from the words of the priest, the whole ceremony had been wordless. Perhaps it was the sadness – the grief that silenced everyone who attended. To Christine, it was not only the sorrow that forced her words to falter in her lips – but it was the fear.

For Raoul had always been her anchor; now, she was free to sink.

Hazel eyes stared desolately at the stone of which her husband's name was carved. She could feel her heart crumbling from the image. Her eyes were instantly shiny as tears began to form but she mutely held the teardrops inside. For she knew they were _all _watching her. All of them. And they did not watch out of feeling – or pity. Christine knew they observed with coldness and disgust. Just the very thought of it forced a small, transparent tear to trickle down her cheek.

"Mama, please don't cry." A voice told her as she glanced down at her daughter's soft, chocolate eyes. She nodded agreeably and even placed a small, loving smile on her lips. Her grasp on her daughter's small hand tightened sensitively as the priest uttered the final prayer and everyone was dismissed. There was a howl of pain from someone behind her as figures pivoted. Christine stayed behind as the various bodies began to saunter away – some deep in whispers while some sobbed. She strayed until it was only her and her daughter's breaths she could hear. Lifting her veil and dropping her daughter's hand momentarily, the woman pressed a kiss to her fingers and sent it to the bleak direction of the wind.

"Goodbye, Raoul." She whispered as she lowered her head and glanced at her daughter. Christine found her grip on the umbrella she held up for them weakening as she urged for the small girl to utter her own farewell, "Say…say goodbye to Papa, Rosa." Christine managed, ignoring the utterly confused face that the five year old plastered on her face, "Say goodbye…my love. Say…say goodbye to Papa." It took a few minutes of persistence before her daughter murmured a goodbye.

There was a hollow pain inside of her - so indescribable and so powerful that it made her stomach heavy and cavernous. Pinning her eyes from the grave, the woman glanced at her daughter lovingly, "Come, Rosa." She nodded as they made their way past the muddy pools of water towards the carriages. As they walked, Christine realized blindly that behind the veil, tears had begun to fall almost uncontrollably. She had to suppress the urge to sob as they continued knowing it would upset her daughter. Instead, Christine endured the ache in silence. She pressed her lips together as the weakness in her heart began to throb and the agony inside of her started to writhe.

As she approached the carriages and saw them watching her – Christine found strength and managed to hold the tears down again. For they should never see her pain. They should never see her cry. Letting her daughter take the seat first, Christine cast a backwards glance at the cemetery scene once more, hazel eyes pensive and grim.

_Oh, Raoul_, her mind wept, _why must you do this to me?_

* * *

><p>Christine visited the cemetery everyday for a week. In that week, she could not remember very much. The emptiness in the house was almost too overwhelming and she spent seven days either in silent solitude or in tears. She should be used to being alone – used to being just her daughter and her. But this was different. Because back then, Christine knew that her husband would be home a few months later to greet her. Now she knew that this wasn't to be anymore. Christine was alone. <em>Truly<em>, alone. Something Raoul had always promised she would never be.

"Rosa." She sighed deeply as her daughter disappeared behind some trees. Another sigh escaped her. _Our little flower_, Raoul used to call their brown-eyed daughter as he would scoop her up in his arms and make her giggle. The memory made Christine smile softly as she stood across the grave. Her daughter's innocence – it did affect her. For Christine wished inside that their little flower would always stay innocent. Always stay pure and virtuous. Because Christine knew that from now on that she only had Rosa to love left. There was no-one else. Nothing else.

The De Chagnys were counting days. Christine knew they were waiting for her – waiting for her to say something. _Oh Christine, we shall help you! For our Raoul, we must_! They chanted. And yet she knew – always knew that without Raoul, she had no place. For five years, Christine knew that she had been surrounded by a fog of safety. _Raoul's_ fog. And now, with his death, the fog had cleared and she realized that she only had one direction to pursue. _Out._ For it was insincere to say that Raoul's family had any interest in her. Everyone knew. Everyone in _Paris_ knew. Christine Daaé was a chorus girl _that hit gold_ as the media labelled it.

She recalled the hysteria that surrounded their marriage. It was a scandal! A Vicomte marrying someone like _her_? It almost made her smile, actually. For she had no title – and people were positively convinced that a De Chagny could not possibly be betrothed to someone of her lowly were lavish accusations of blackmail – crimes – witchcraft! Everything. And Raoul would simply shrug it off and press a soft kiss to her forehead. _"They know nothing_," He used to murmur as she would crawl into an insecure ball in their bed and question if marriage was something they should engage in after all the frenzy. He had scowled stating the media knew nothing.

But it had not only been the media.

Raoul's bloodline was as pure as they came. Christine was a stain – she was a _blemish _in the De Chagny line. They had been more reserved about their judgement about Christine being in the family (for Raoul) but she knew they looked down on her. For she was not on a hierarchy that fitted their standards. And after giving birth to Rosa, neither was she. Perhaps, if she had bore him a son – it would have been better and the derision would have subsided. But inside she knew it would have made no difference. Christine Daaé had no place there in the beginning. And without Raoul, she definitely had no place now. Raoul stayed ignorant to it - if he knew, he made no plea in her case. Inside, Christine knew that he was aware of it. Aware of the spurn and the plain antipathy his own flesh and blood showed her. He did nothing. And Christine understood why - for they were family. Ignorance was always bliss, in family.

"My love," Christine murmured, pulling down her black coloured sleeve as she gazed over his stone, "What must we do now?" There was an eerie, loud brush of the wind as Christine gazed up at the greying skyline. She glanced back down and felt her lips press thinly. Bidding the silent tomb another kiss goodbye, she turned around and glanced at the empty cemetery. She exhaled, a little aggravated as she had told Rosa to be respectful and not to wander. She was always almost too much of an explorer for her own safety.

Tightening her cloak as to warm herself against the winter breeze, Christine began to walk towards the gates, "Rosa…" She called out firmly yet still retaining a soft undertone, "Rosa…Rosa, my love we must go now…" The woman stopped and turned, a little concerned by the lack of reply but watched as a small shadow appeared right at the end of the cemetery. "_Rosa,"_ Christine repeated as the black shadow turned into her daughter skipping innocuously towards her.

"Did I not warn you about wandering?" Christine asked as the blonde appeared in front of her, smiling as always. Affectionately, she stroked the top of her small head. Realizing that it reminded her too much of what Raoul did, Christine stopped and turned. She was moving forwards to swing open the loud, metal gate when she heard a –

"Mama." Christine sighed and turned quite impatiently,

"Rosa, it is much too cold now we must –" But then her words were stopped as her eyes fell on what it was her daughter was gesturing to. For a few seconds, everything was still and all Christine could hear was the vociferous blow of the air. Her daughter had her head inclined, clearly bemused by the odd expression on her Mama's face. Christine said nothing and simply stepped towards her. She could feel her heart pounding against her ribcage as she crouched down and inspected the rose. Her eyes faltered almost instantly.

"He said to give it to you." Rosa said quite effortlessly as she dropped it into Christine's quaking palm.

"Who did…m-my love?" Christine managed, eyes snapping around at the mute, vacant backdrop. Rosa giggled a little and tucked tiny hands into her pocket,

"The man, Mama," She retorted – oblivious to her Mama's irregular breaths. The small girl turned around and pointed at a lone tree at the back of the cemetery, "There - mama. There was a man... a man in a mask."


	2. Mislead

_**Mislead**_

Winter very rarely appealed to him. For the most part, he was dismayed by the drops in temperature and the icy flecks on treetops. But winter had brought a misfortune to Paris. The _death of Raoul De Chagny. _He had woken up to flamboyant tales of him in the newspapers. Everywhere! Every headline it all followed the same note. The same tune. And the fact that the familiarity of the name brought such a sting in his heart was something he had not expected. It had been so long and yet it almost felt the same. In the end, it was what brought him to the cemetery. The bitterness of the instances that had moulded him into what he was now had long since faded. He was here to respect. Not to revel.

Melting into the grey, bleak background almost naturally, the man was met by an air of _welcome._ A frequent visitor to the location around it, he had not visited the graveyard for a lengthy while. There was irony in a dead man visiting a place of the dead – and so he avoided it. Head light and reflective, the tall man sauntered forwards only to realize that someone had accessed the grave before him. Visiting the tomb of a De Chagny? The indignity of such an action was almost laughable. He knew inside that he had not visited the tomb to pay his reverence. No, it had all been for her, of course. _Of course. _It had been his purpose from the moment he stepped through the gate. To visit, in the hope of setting his eyes on her.

He hid for a few hours and watched her, silent. In the end, it all played down into fate's open arms. The young, offspring located him and quite comfortably he offered her a diversion. "Please, give this to your mother," He told her, tone flawless. The small girl had been moved by his face and had gawked at the enigma of his mask. She had taken his prize like a desperate animal and walked away, entirely delighted. For a few seconds, he had almost been tempted to stay and view the reactions that his old signature should provoke. But it had grown dark and enough wounds had been pried open. Inside he knew that they shall meet soon. For jubilantly everyone knew what was going to be done with the _Vicomtess De Chagny _now that her husband was gone. _Pity those who lost_ they said. _Pity_, indeed. Everyone knew.

The whole of Paris knew.

* * *

><p>The knock on the door was loud and weary. Christine sat on the staircase knowing it would have come eventually. She lifted from the marble and softly rubbed her shoulders with one hand as she eyed her daughter who read pensively in the living room. Her daughter's golden curls fell elegantly over her shoulder- Christine almost felt like crying again as she was reminded of what they were about to battle. Rosa and her. <em>Always. <em>"Whatever happens," She murmured softly to herself as she took to the door and twisted the door handle. She pulled the large door back heavily and smiled - falsely- at the face of Charlotte De Chagny.

"Good evening, Christine." The woman said fondly, stepping through the door without invitation. Pale and rather weak, Christine greeted back with a,

"Good evening, Charlotte."

There was silence as Charlotte's perfectly sculpted face defeated Christine's wavering one. Sweeping brown curls off her shoulder, Christine turned around and glanced at the peacefully sitting stance of her daughter. "Rosa – please may you retire to bed?" Her daughter innocently lifted her eyes to the cold orbs that inhabited Charlotte De Chagny's sockets. Instantly and without the normal fuss, the blonde dashed upstairs – disdainfully ignoring her Aunt's presence. It was plain that Charlotte did not find this amusing as she hid a distasteful scoff.

"She has grown." The woman stated instead clearly displeased. Christine nodded in response, shade of face colourless. "May we speak in the kitchen, Christine?" She then asked, unclasping her coat and smiling weakly, "Perhaps it should be best for we can sit down."

Christine nodded, tears already beginning to form in her eyes, "Yes," She agreed, "That would – that would be best."

Attempting to be casual, Christine led them both to the kitchen, knowing what was to come.

And it came. For an hour, Christine was fed with information and pity – sewn into an incomprehensible mess. She was gorged on details of the De Chagny family and their commitment to supporting her and Rosa – but then informed of the financial burden it puts on the family now that Raoul is dead. Christine had sat through it, avoiding Charlotte's gaze, almost begging for her to admit what it was the family wanted and to just leave the house. Christine's head was swimming with confusion – and loss. And grief, of course. Raoul's passing had not been long ago. It had not been long ago when she had bid him goodbye and he had promised to spend the winter with his wife and daughter. Not long ago when she had sobbed and crumpled the letter informing her of his death. Not long ago when she did not have to face this _agony._

Charlotte's blank tone monotonously passed through Christine's ears. Coldly, Christine flinched as she realised that the other woman had touched her shoulder as a form of sentiment. Charlotte retreated instantly, eyes a little surprised as her perfectly unfeeling expression returned.

"Christine, you must understand that we _are _a family. But we cannot support this house among others – without Raoul."

"So, you wish for Rosa and I to depart?" Christine answered in a snappish tone – she quickly recuperated by breathing out and adding softly, "…this house was ours, Charlotte…I – "

"I know," There was warmth to her tone now – warmth that Christine doubted even existed, "But we must look at all of our options, Christine. We must speak in the tone of reality…without Raoul, we must all _compromise._"

"Then where must we go? _Where_, Charlotte?" Christine looked away, not wanting to show emotion. She wanted to be as icy as Charlotte. But the desperation in her tone was obvious. It was so evident - it pained her. Trying her best to sustain a relatively neutral expression, Christine inhaled and glanced back at the other woman. For a moment - she almost saw a _spark _of understanding in her grey eyes.

But it faded.

Once more, Christine found herself wondering how her warm and always affectionate husband could have shared blood with such unsympathetic figures. Even now, she could feel Charlotte degrading her to the point that she could barely speak. It was always going to finish with this and Christine knew that she risked her and her daughter's dignity if she did not admit defeat. _I'm sorry my love_, her mind told her daughter as she inhaled firmly. She knew it was futile to argue with what they wanted – if anything, it was foolish. It was yes. It was yes to whatever they wanted. To everything.

Christine's livid gaze endured the rest of the meeting. She pressed two, uncaring kisses on Charlotte's cold cheeks and bid her a goodbye. Shutting the door, Christine found herself arching her back against the door and glancing at the beautiful hallway. She almost remembered the night Raoul and her moved in – the fun they had with sorting the furniture! _'No Raoul…the chandelier's here! Not there!' _It was a house that housed a beautiful family. But now, it was just full of voices. Ghosts of what once was.

It was done now. _Finished. _She was Christine De Chagny, no more.

* * *

><p>The beauty of her daughter was one that always made Christine stop crying. She knew if anything that everything she did was for her dear little Rosalie. But now, what were they to do? Without Raoul, they had nothing. And they were going to be penniless and undignified. Christine had become a ploy of their society from the beginning. She had wanted to endure the pain of being an outsider. Not her daughter. But she knew that if Rosa was ever taken from her that she would deteriorate in every way possible. It was not even in her mind to even think of such horrible things. To Christine, the rest of the world could fall to pieces.<p>

As long as she had her daughter in her arms, she could endure anything.

Eyeing the sleeping angel, Christine was reminded of something. The trip to the graveyard this afternoon. Closing her daughter's bedroom door mutely, the woman journeyed to her own bedroom at the end and stepped inside. Shivering as she realized how cold it had become since this morning, she softly retrieved the rose that had lay undisturbed in the depth of her chest drawers by the window. Christine had thought that by not seeing it - she never had to attend to it. She almost smiled as she realized what frenzy her mind must have been in only hours before! The ordeal with Charlotte had focused her attentions. Although as she held it now, she still felt a pinch of nostalgia. And sickness.

He was here. Of course he was. It wasn't a common occurrence for a man with a rose to also be masked. Christine had lived five peaceful years without being once reminded of him. _Sigh. _Despite this - almost in equal length- she also knew that she had lived five peaceful years of being _constantly_ reminded him of him. Every time she saw a mask – every time she was given a rose. Every time she took Rosa to the opera…every time she saw an organ…every time she saw a statue that resembled an angel. Every single instance, Christine would be transported back to Opera Populaire. She would feel like a young woman again and the songs of the past would come creeping back into her repertoire.

Shutting her eyelids, Christine found herself falling asleep with the rose in her hand. As if it could provide some form of comfort to a woman who needed it the most.

* * *

><p>Glancing back at the departing carriage, Christine felt the sadness of the graveyard envelope her once more. She breathed out, mist parting from her lips as she glanced up at the clouds above. They looked heavy and replete – she would be surprised if Paris was spared from snowfall in the next few days. Crossing her arms warmly over her chest, she approached her husband's grave pensively and obediently lit the candle that illuminated his name against the darkness. She was performing her duties as a good wife – although she was not a wife anymore. Raoul would be furious with her – for not fighting.<p>

But she lost the fight years ago. They were just retrieving what was theirs. She did not belong there anymore. Christine felt her heart submerge into the familiar feeling of loss once more as Raoul's face filled her memory. He was her husband in her heart, although he may not be anymore. In name, she was not a De Chagny and yet the love she felt for him remained untouched. And that was when Christine sensed the figure behind her. Her eyes did not move and remained fixated on the grave yet her breaths grew rapid. She almost prayed she was imagining it. Like the breaths she was hearing was her own.

"I offer my condolences." The voice said instantly as air filled the silence that Christine offered in response. The familiar voice was one Christine could not disregard - but her own instinct refused equally _to _regard. She remained frozen in her spot as her body absorbed the sheer bitterness of the wind- which seemed to have become more austere in the last few minutes.

"Hello, Christine." He said softly, tone laced with the sincerity she remembered, "It has been a while."

For a few seconds, there was little movement. The wordless interlude, serenaded by the sound of the brusquely blowing breeze.


	3. Gone

_**Gone**_

Christine felt the sound of his voice shiver through her and she shut her eyes to allay tears. She remained silent and kept her gaze low. Her heart rate's dramatic increase did not help with the situation wondrously. _He's here…well, of course he is…_her mind sighed softly at her naivety. She knew he would be here. Of course. Had she known it from the beginning? Perhaps. But despite this, she felt the fear run through her without question. He was right. It had been a while. And yet, things did not seem to have changed too drastically.

She was still as terrified as she had been all those years ago. Memories flashed in her head but she found herself blocking them out. They broke her heart. They always did. It had not been too long ago when the nightmares stopped. She did not need them to be rekindled by his voice. But she could not just ignore him. She was clever enough to know that. _Foolish girl! _She was so consumed with feeling - so many memories...

_Here, after all this time!_

Focusing on modulating her breaths, Christine turned and faced him. At first, her gaze stayed by his shoes but slowly they lifted. There was a brief moment where she was reminded of _his real face _but what met her are the mask and the man behind. He looked similar – his posture perfect. His attire - from the colour of his blazer to the mask - exactly the same. His glowing eyes were staring back. Lines had formed around them. He was thinner. Paler. But, still – despite all - the same Angel. For a moment, Christine thought she had grown delusional. Why was it that she had changed so much and he still looked as he had in her dreams?

"Christine." He breathed.

"Monsieur." She managed, realizing that a tear had drifted from the corner of her eye. It was small, and yet she knew he noticed for he suddenly looked away. Christine brushed it off, and decided it would be best to not weep. Not yet. "You look well." She croaked, swallowing dryly as he returned his gaze to her and nodded curtly. _What did he wish for? _Her mind said crassly, _Why must he return_? And then she realized that the sharpness of her tone was probably unnecessary. He was here to offer condolences, as he had said.

As the anger faded - a sudden blizzard of feelings hit her squarely.

The sight in front of her was something she never thought would be possible. Especially not in a time like this. She eyed him, feeling herself shudder with emotion. _After all this time... after all that happened..._ Christine struggled deeply to keep her feelings at bay. For here it was - the reunion she had recalled seeing. Five years was indeed a lengthy time but being here now - it made it seem decades longer.

Everything has changed now.

"You look weary." He replied back.

"Thank you for your gift...yesterday." Christine nodded, lowering her gaze instantly. She knew indirectly that she had just been reverted back to a student. For she recalled uttering the same words long ago. To the same person.

"You are welcome."

"Yes."

"His death was unfortunate. I am…sorry."

There was something about his words. Something that made Christine queasy. She couldn't tell what it was about them. Why it was that they made her feel light-headed. But she just repressed asking and thinking and just shook her head in response, "There is no need to be." She murmured. Oh, how she wished he found this is as uncomfortable as she did. How she wished she'd just stayed at home with Rosa like she had planned. She _had _known he would be here. Somehow.

And she had wanted to be here too. _Somehow._ Eyes avoiding his as she gazed on a fleck over his shoulder, Christine murmured, "Why did you come?"

_Why do you ask, Christine?_ Her mind taunted.

"To pay my respects." His tone was flawless – natural. Christine hoped that he was telling the truth. In her heart, she wished he was. But it did not seem to be the type of thing he would do. _They were repulsed by one another... _But, years had passed. Although he looked the same – he may not. He may not _be _the same. Chirstine could feel his stare on her – burying into her and pressing her with conflicting feelings. He was always so dominating. _Just as I remember... he is real...he's alive... _

"Naturally, our paths have crossed." His voice added indifferently.

"Yes, I – " Christine inhaled weakly, "I – I had wished...you...because...I... always wondered where you had…what had happened…" She found herself struggling for words. She was so lost with what to say that she had begun to ramble about nonsensical things! Christine looked up at him feeling instantaneously self-conscious. For she was not the young girl he remembered. Not the little songbird he had trained. No, Christine was different now. She looked different. She was not young. And yet, she still acted like the small, fumbling ballerina. If she could have at that moment – she would have laughed.

"You wondered?"

"Yes...you must - must - think me..."

"I do not."

Christine could not read his expressions. And as they stood, all she could feel was the sheer brush of the wind. But she knew he was thoughtful. And looking at him, she almost felt at peace. The most peaceful she had been in a month or so. But only because it detracted her attention away from the ache of loss. From the grief of Raoul's death. Behind him, she could see the ghosts of the past.

_Christine, I love you… _Tears pricked the corner of her eyes again.

Before she could recuperate, she found herself moving forwards in a flash of movement,

"I must go – I – I'm sorry." She stumbled moving past him, gnashing her teeth together as she forced to keep her eyes away from him.

"Of course." Christine stiffly glanced back. He was staring back at her, watching as she said goodbye.

"It was – " A lovely interaction. Would that be truthful? Christine could not lie but she could not think majestically clearly either, "I must…I must go home now…" She could feel her chest heaving for air as she paused and fixed her eyes on him one more time. As if it could provide comfort that he was real. As if the feeling that she found this entirely surreal could suddenly go away. As if her confusion could just die away - the guilt. The sadness. The relief! It could all just _fade_ in his silhouette.

"Goodbye, Christine."

His words floated in the air as she forced herself towards the direction of the gate. She found her pace slowing as she tugged her cloak closer around her. Another soft tear fell and she felt it coldly trickle down her cheek. _Why are you weeping_? Her mind asked. That was a good question! Why _was _she weeping? Because it felt so - it felt so raw. The way she bid him farewell seemed so _familiar. _He had arrived! After five years of wondering - he was here! And suddenly... she was releasing him like that? It was - imperative, she knew. But - was this it? Christine had always had a small feeling he would return but this was it...how eerie it seemed from how it concluded the last time -

"Christine."

A lot quicker than she had wanted, she palely whipped around and glanced at him. He was a mere body in the distance now - just a silhouette. But his voice was as clear in this distance as it had been when she was across him. "Yes?" There was silence afterwards. A weary one. She wondered briefly if he found this as confusing as she did - if confusing be the word. This was all too _overwhelming. _After all this time... surely, there was no need for anymore words. Goodbye. That night had been a clear goodbye. _God forbid don't try to remember it..._

"If you ever wish to speak. There is a park, nearby that I visit every afternoon."

Christine was suddenly glad that he was far away for she could feel her lips quivering. _Speak_? "I - I - It was nice to see you." She spluttered out, pushing the gate open as she inwardly winced at the very suggestion of his words. If she ever wished to speak? Of course she didn't need such a thing! That would just fuel the bright mess she had incited within herself. _Had he forgotten? _It wasn't like she had missed him over the years.

There was a hollowness in her as she walked along the pavement knowing very well that she _had _missed her Angel over the years. How could she not? She had missed everything. The music. The Populaire. Her eyes fell on the park across the street knowing that, that was what he was talking about. Christine stared at it and simply sighed. They said that if you revisit the past - you only entitle yourself to pain. But what if your present pained you more? _What does one do then_?

* * *

><p>It snowed.<p>

Christine walked through the quiet pavement of the city, warmed by her winter coat and cloak. She tried her best to sustain balance as she walked on crushed ice. There was a lack of life in the city today - everyone was inside. Warm. By their fireplaces and drinking hot beverages. Christine had never liked winter. Her Papa was taken from her at winter. And now, her husband too. She glanced up at the large, grey puffs of clouds and knew very well that it was probably going to provide another layer of snow for Paris soon.

Rosa had awoken utterly elated by the amount that had fallen overnight. Christine had pulled back the curtains and sighed, knowing that Raoul had liked snow too. In fact, he had been the only reason she ever had any liking for it. They had a winter wedding - and every memory of her husband actually staying at their home for more than a week was stained with snowball fights and snowmen making. _He would have liked this_, she murmured to herself as she glanced around at the white that suffocated every piece of the city backdrop. He would have thought it was beautiful.

Eyes distant and with a heavy heart, Christine pushed open the gate and entered. She looked up and was met with an overbearing silence and lack of life. Everything was hidden behind the flurry of snow. Every shape distorted. Every form of ground covered. _Why am I here_? Surely she should have stayed at home and cuddled Rosa. The young girl had looked forward to spending a day indoors with her Mama. But Christine knew that her daughter was beginning to see through the thin veil of pleasantries she pasted on when they talked. She had begun to realize that her dear Mama did not stop crying like she had asked.

And she could not deal with such a thing.

She could not deal with her daughter's heartbreak. Not with her questions. Christine could not endure the idea that she had ruined her daughter's life. That she could not provide as a mother. _A bad mother. _She knew that Rosa was smart and eventually, she would see that Christine had lost the only thing that could remind her of her father. Their _home. _She had lost _home _for them. Because she wasn't brave enough! Because she was afraid! Because her mother could not deal with her own sorrows... because she was weak... because -

Christine brushed snow off the wooden bench, face barely twitching as she sat, slapped by the breeze. For a moment, she managed to sustain a perfectly formed facade against everything around her. Against the lonely background. Against the wind that savaged the warmth of her body. But then she sensed a figure sit next to her. And a voice resonated from the wind.

"Christine." The voice said.

And just like that, Christine's perfect glass shattered.

One tear fell. And then another. And then another.

Unable to stay quiet, the woman took her hands and covered her face as she sobbed loudly. Her grief - her loss - her _disappointment_ spilled through her tears. Christine_ crumbled_. She felt her thoughts completely fall from her mind as she cried - cried without the rules that hindered her before. Without holding back. She felt her lungs heave for air as she wept. She was tired. _So _tired from grieving. From the loneliness. From _being _herself. She was _gone. _Her heart was empty. And she poured it all in a cascade of choked, broken noises.

"P-Please," She managed, lifting her face, eyes blurred from tears, "I - I'm...I'm sorry..."

But the tears did not stop. Especially when she realized that the last time she had cried this passionately and this truthfully - was for him. _Him. _When her world last fell apart... when the world she relied upon so heavily - finally swerved off her control.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>

I bet I seemed like such a scoff for not putting a thank you note in Chapter 2! Sorry about that. My only explanation is that I grew so sleepy, I'd forgotten to type one. But yes, thanks so much for responding and the positive comments! I wish that I could have put more in their first confrontation, but my Christine & Erik are taking it slowly. And they should be really as they have a lot more future obstacles to hop over. Please bear with me and thanks for the response so far! It's appreciated.


	4. Weak

_**Weak**_

In the end, Christine found that she had no more tears to shed.

The sobs that spluttered from her lips just faded and numbly, she found herself staring at the bland landscape across her. A silence surrounded the park as she slowly recovered from the painless reverie and the ache inside of her returned. Of course, despite the fact that inside she was throbbing - she could not deny the wonders that a good cry possessed. She felt like a part of the weight that had harboured in her subconscious had been retrieved and it probably helped ease the pain a little. It took another few moments for her to realize that she was not sitting on the bench alone. She had not been; he had seen her rapid deterioration from the beginning. From the first sob - to the first tear.

She was not sure if it was fear or embarassment but something kept her mute. No words appeared in her head to say. What was there to say? It was clear that Christine was weak. She was faintly surprised he had not left - for it was clear that she was not as strong as she once had been. Not that she had _ever _been strong for Christine knew she had always relied on another figure somehow. First, it had been her father... and then - _Angel_, and Raoul. But now they had all passed - whether in spirit or just in form. Christine had no-one.

"I _hate _being weak." She managed, not bearing to lock eyes with him and just glowering at the snow that had brushed onto the surface of the meadow that once existed.

"You are not weak." His voice responded swift in his disagreement.

"I am; _nonsense_...all I ever do is nonsense. Now, I am but a _plaything_ to my critics." Christine argued knowing instantly that she was right in every word. She was now but a toy to the De Chagnys. They were handling her on a thin string that they had the control to snap. _Well, my congratulations Charlotte! _Her mind rasped with spite - Christine had already snapped. There was no need but _humiliation _for them to keep her.

"You have changed, Christine." He spoke, toneless, "You did not grieve this way about your father."

Christine forgot entirely that she had been attempting to avoid his gaze and looked up at him. His gaze met hers - not a flinch of discomfort in the bright orbs that once troubled her dreams. Those eyes, that gave nothing. "I am without weapon, Angel," She murmured, eyes lowering as she compressed the swelling feeling of sorrow inside of her, "Before...I was _strong _for my Papa for I had..." _For I had you..._The Angel who assured her that her dear father had attained heaven without difficulty! The Angel who entranced her with music long enough for the pain of loss to subside.

She remembered the memories now. But as a young girl, her mind was easily engrossed. This was not the same. The ache was much deeper inside of her - and what she had lost was larger. _Everything. _She had lost everything. Lifting her eyes once more, Christine realized that it was his that had glanced away. She sat up, arching her back against the icy ridge of the bench.

"I had always hoped that the years have been kind to you, Angel." Christine murmured softly, trembling fingers clasping against each other - almost in prayer. She did not look at him as he responded for she was not sure why she was diverting the subject. But what she admitted was true to the syllable. For she had always included him in her daily prayers. Always.

"Your hope is kindly." He said simply before adding, "Please, call me Erik."

_Erik. _Her eyes looked up at him instantly.

"Your - your name... I -" Christine found herself, breathless as she blinked. She had never even _placed _it in her mind that he had a name. For so long she had regarded him with what she had always known his title to be...but, she supposed that this was the correct time for such information to be shared. For the days of angels were dead. They were man and woman, now. But how erroneously simple-minded must she have been that she even forgot to ask for his name?

"You never asked." He responded to her wide-eyed look as if he was reading her mind instantaneously.

Christine managed a miniscule nod, "I am sorry." He nodded curtly back. She could not help but note that parting from his immaculate musical talent - there was little she could remember about _him. _Erik. She could barely remember the sound of his voice highlighting she had even forgotten the bare minimum. No wonder why his name was overlooked. She also knew that he concealed that secret behind his mask... it took Christine a few moments to realize that she was staring at it quite plainly and her eyes quickly skimmed away.

There was a stiff, long silence that Christine related to the loutishness of her actions. She thought he would _recoil _somehow against her wandering eyes so she was definitely surprised when he spoke.

"I never desired to return to your life, Christine." He paused; she felt her lips quiver in the pause that seemed to lengthen as she heard his soft breaths, "But I knew how you mourned as a child and how _reserved _you became. I knew you would keep things to yourself."

Another pause. "And that is _always _careless, even now."

"So you came to offer solace." Christine nodded, shifting her cloak slightly to protect her from the chilling wind, "Along with your condolences."

"Yes."

"Well, thank you. That is kind."

The way they exchanged speech was something Christine could only relate to something mechanized. There was clearly a tension in the air that hung over them. But to mention it seemed _vulgar. _However, she could not endure it for Christine knew that the forbidden - the prohibited line to cross was something that had faded over the years for her. And if he thought she harboured the same fear - he was wrong. _She _thought that she had still been frightened when she had first realized his return. But she knew the fear never existed. The fear she had held for him was a spawn of the moment - a few hours of sleep the day after and it had receded.

"I had _never _held spite for what you did, Erik." She told him meaningfully - mustering up courage as she bravely looked into his eyes. _The eyes that burned _as she once said. But as she gazed at them now, she knew they had lost their flicker. They barely glowed now. "I forgave you." She added, knowing that if she still had tears left she would weep again. The memories of that night were swirling back - and she could still recollect the sounds of his broken sobs.

Looking at him now, she knew how different he had been. How different he was now.

He continued to hold a perfect facade. There was no relief on his face - not an emotion in his eyes Christine could detect. He moved his face away from her stare and shifted forwards to glance at the white backdrop instead. Christine simmered in the silence, at a loss as to what it was that he was keeping from her. Why he did not answer. _Perhaps_, he thought he had not wronged. Perhaps. Although it may be pretentious in Christine's opinion, perhaps he thought _she _had wronged. Of course it was not pretentious - she _had _wronged.

In the end, she knew they both moulded their own mistakes. And they would haunt her forever. But he had not made the path of recovery easy for her. _He had no need to take life_ -

"You should not have forgiven me, Christine." His voice was barely audible; she knew it had changed the moment he parted his lips. She looked at him, watching as he stared at the ground beneath and slowly reared his head towards her, "I am _not _a good man." The coldness in his tone was something she did not overlook as she cleared her throat curtly.

"Was." Christine interjected politely, "'I _was_ not a good man.' - you _were _Erik, for the most. You were merely induced by...by your bitterness so you lost your way as it ended...I understood that! I did...I _do _now!"

She breathed in and tried her best to sustain her shaking lips as she added, "I always knew you were good inside." He looked at her - and for the first time Christine saw a flash of something in his eyes. _Recognition_, perhaps? But they had softened. Perhaps they were inquiring if she had meant it. Christine knew how much she meant those words. His goodness' existence was something she could not question; after all, she was exposed to its good intentions for almost half her life. Her teacher. Her always benevolent friend.

"Do not doubt me, Erik," She continued, "If you were not good - then why have you come for me? To _help _me?" Her hands gestured at the wintry landscape, "In the middle of such conditions?"

That seemed to ignite attention as he stared at her, almost contemplating it himself. Christine pressed her lips thinly together and gave him a look of understanding, "Time has allowed me to reflect," She whispered exhaling as another breeze swept over them, "But it did not take long for it to dawn on me that _I _played a role in your rage - in fact the biggest-"

"No!" He seemed to stumble in indignation. Christine turned her head to him, realizing it had been the first time he'd spoken in a while. He too seemed surprised by his outburst of feeling but continued anyway, "You must not blame yourself for _any _of it."

"Then you must not blame yourself for _all _of it either." Christine counteracted.

They looked at each other for a few moments before Erik seemed to laboriously sigh. Christine glanced at him tenderly knowing that the ghosts of the past still haunted his austere looking face. It plagued him. And he shall not listen to her retorts; whatever she told him seemed to be undignified evidence. She closed her eyes momentarily before hearing him murmur,

"I am _exhausted_ by the past, Christine," He uttered, just audible above the blow of the wind, "Five years, I have been eroded by memories."

Sadness. There was sadness in his eyes - something that was in hers the moment he spoke her name. "Then let us forget about the past," She proposed watching his gaze narrow at her remark, "Or at least - let us not dwell on it so soberly." Christine found herself relaxing her tense shoulders as she prompted his face for some response.

"I almost killed your husband that night."

The response he gave was one she had not expected. And she did find her face twisting into one of an affronted expression. But she knew that, that was what he had intended. For her to remember the darkness of it! The complete _horror story _of that final night in the catacombs of the Opera House. But she knew that she still could not look at him maliciously - especially since his eyes had softened to the point that they almost looked repentant. Like it had dawned on them the discourtesy of his words. He had almost killed Raoul. And she should be infuriated! But she was not. For she knew he had done so much more than that.

"I-"

Christine waved a hand to stop him from explaining himself. His mouth remained open for a moment before he slowly clamped it shut. They just exchanged another bow of the head before Erik intervened the next wave of silence,

"I have missed you dearly, Christine." He told her, tone suddenly uncertain and honest. His glowing eyes watched for her response - if she was to run or stay.

Of course, she could not reply any differently. "I have missed you also." She nodded, gazing delicately at him knowing her thoughts about him were never anything but fond. They were always - _oh I remembered when I played this piece! He - _or _that reminds me of someone I once knew. He was a wonderful artist- _Never malevolent. Her gaze was pinned from the crushed ice in front of her as she sensed him shift in the spot he sat. They shared a moment of silence of which they just stared. Both trying to almost realize how the other half had lived in the five years they had been apart.

"You never did like winter." He commented innocently.

Christine, for the first time in what seemed like eternity, found herself smiling.

* * *

><p>Eventually, the threat of snowfall became a truth and snow began to fall on Paris almost senselessly. Their meeting was adjourned - much to the disappointment of Christine who knew how little she knew of what Erik had done in the five years she had lost him. He had given her little information - something about a quiet life with his compositions. Christine had simply smiled stating that, that was exactly what she had always dreamt of him doing. But she knew she had lied - for there had always been a fear inside that he had perished in that final night at the Opera. Almost all of her had thought him dead. That was why she had prayed for him so dutifully.<p>

_Please, my father do not punish him_ - she had murmured as she prepared herself to sleep. For the small part of her that still thought him living, Christine knew that his actions would involve music of some sort. He breathed music - if there was anything she could unravel about the enigma that was Erik, it was _his _music. And despite his admissions, Christine could not help but feel like there was something beneath his words. But she took it as his sadness.

"If there is ever anything, Christine," He had told her as she waved him a small, shy goodbye, "I am here."

_Always here. _Christine had simply nodded, feeling a sense of peace dawning on her as she pressed her pale lips together.

"Thank you, Erik." She had breathed as she turned to face him, "For giving me strength."

They had decided to meet again in a few days when the snowfall would cease. Christine was to see the De Chagny's tomorrow at their home. As she lay in bed, one hand still pressed comfortingly on the pillow that was Raoul's - Christine found herself closing her eyes peacefully. For the first time in a long time, no tears slipped mockingly through her eyelids. She slept - the weariness of her life fading into the darkness - as she inwardly readied for what was to face her when the sun rose tomorrow.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**

Thanks once more for the lovely comments. I wanted to update yesterday but I was treated to an impromptu ticket to watch Phantom at Her Majesty's again and who could resist? :) It definitely tickled muse. Anyway, you have no idea how nice your comments are and I'm pleased the pace is not too slow for you all. And - Erik, is a bit quiet yes? He shall be coming up in the chapter after next - with Rosa too, so just bear with me on that as you shall see them shortly! I hope this was okay. And I hope you're all well!


	5. Home

**_Home_**

She had left Rosa at home. The disappointment on her daughter's face was one she found difficult to bear as she informed her that once more she would have to decline her offer of playing out in the snow. _But Mama_! She had said while stomping on the floor moodily. Christine had simply sighed at her, knowing she could not exactly say that it was for her own _wellbeing _considering she would not want to see her Mama _do _anything that was not ladylike in manner. She chuckled a little as she guardedly left the coach towards _Mullieur House_. Perhaps it was the hours she had spent in the peaceful lull of sleep that had caused a sudden surge of self assurance - but Christine found that she was in no mindset to be degraded by Raoul's sister today. She had no idea what they were to say to her - or how she would solve the predicament of losing their home. But she refused to be belittled by Charlotte anymore.

The woman was - she was a _vulture _in Christine's mind. It was no surprise that she had been Raoul's least preferable sister. He had two - Charlotte and Maria. Christine had not been in Maria's company often, but the woman was very reserved and normally kept to herself - surprisingly, it did not seem to make her aloof. Just quiet. She did not seem anywhere near the league of snobbishness that Charlotte basked in. For the woman even demeaned Raoul! Her own brother! It was a joke, in Christine's opinion - one she could not bear to be a part of anymore.

Approaching the door of the house, Christine muttered ruefully at the depth of snow she was sauntering through. Fortunately, she had not submerged (although with the amount of snow that was falling, she was certain that time shall not stay pending for too long). It was lucky she supposed that coaches were still able to maneouvre in the ice - although she did feel awfully sympathetic for the horses. It was here, as she was wading through the ice to approach the door that she began to hear the voices. Or rather the sharp, synthetic laughter of one _Charlotte De Chagny._

To listen in to another's conversation was rude in Christine's opinion and morally, she was obligated to ignore the temptation. But as she approached the door, she began to hear the voices clearly and their words easy to comprehend. They were talking by the side of the house - loudly perhaps to fight against the abrasive wind. Christine wondered who would possess someone to have a break in such chilly conditions - but it dawned on her that they must have just finished riding. In addition to that, the woman with the heart of _ice _probably belonged in it thus the attraction. It was theoretical.

Quietly, she swept forwards and listened. It did not take long for Christine to realize that _she _was the focus of the conversation.

"...a _mess _you say? Well, she must be! It was her husband. Oh I still _mourn_ for your poor brother to this day!" The woman talked in a rather audacious manner. Christine could not recognize her voice and instinctively linked it to one of the De Chagny's favoured allies. The way she talked told Christine that she was probably in the same collection as Charlotte - false and inflated. But she was not one to judge too harshly.

Christine had to soften her breaths as she listened to Charlotte next. Her voice was a bit quieter but only by a decibel or so,

"Yes a mess...but _Daria_, you must pity her daughter - the mother is simply _miserable_-"

"Oh you do not mean that she cannot tend for her _own_ daughter? Well that is simply tragic!"

There was a short pause. Christine could barely restrain herself. _She cannot tend for her own daughter... _the nerve! She found rage swelling in her as she continued to listen,

"Tragic, indeed. Oh, but I had always assumed it - I could not _believe _Raoul when he had first brought her home. Philippe had been in uproar..."

"Well, it had been rather scandalous. I had never _seen _so many headlines about your brother."

"Yes, Raoul was always the child who kept to his own devices. Of _course_, if only Philippe and I had _known _what it was - or _who _it was he was using it for..."

Then the two women _laughed. _The sound of their mocking - demeaning laughter was enough to snap Christine's branch of patience. She stepped out of her hiding frame into the view of the two women who were - as she had assumed - standing by the side of the house, by the rose garden conversing. Christine was pale with rage. She glanced, sharp-eyed at the two women who wereclearly stunned by her entrance. Their faces! If Christine had not been so infuriated, she would have laughed. Even Charlotte, who was always so indifferent looked mortified. But, she recovered without trouble.

"Christine." Charlotte greeted dryly, "I was not expecting you until ten."

"It _is _ten." Christine replied simply, eyeing the other woman - _Daria_, as Charlotte had referred to by her attire and by everything she had heard...she was definitely Charlotte's accomplice. Daria's eyes were wide and frightened but still they inspected Christine like she was a filthy book. Christine had to resist scoffing at her face, knowing that she had probably moulded an opinion of Christine already - despite this being their principal meeting. The nerve of people who thought things without a singular piece of acknowledgeable evidence was both irritable _and _heartbreaking.

But she was in no mood for sympathy. "I would have expected in the very least an _ounce _of respect from you, Charlotte." Christine responded coldly.

There was a moment of silence as Charlotte eyed her with such a look of _spite t_hat it could have made sugar taste bitter. She managed to restrain it and a cool, collected face appeared. "You should not have listened, Christine," She said with clear condescension, "It was private."

"Perhaps you should not have spoken so loudly."

"Still, you have no _right _to interject in a conversation that you are not invited to."

"And you have _no _right to judge my parental ability!" Christine argued sharply, knowing she must contain her temper. It was difficult though as she had never felt so _free _to lash out at the woman. For before, they had been family. Now they had visually no ties left apart from one. And soon enough, that final ribbon will dissipate when they take the house, "And I had _assumed _I was invited considering _I _was the focus of all your conversation."

Charlotte said nothing. Christine glanced back at the coach by the front door, knowing she had told them to wait for she had never expected her stay here to be long. The house gave her horrific chills - clearly the malice of the family incinerating into its walls.

"If you had summoned me about the house - I will _save _you time and tell you that Rosalie and I are leaving."

Christine knew she should not but it overwhelmed her in the end. The rage. The feeling that she could not _bear _their presence any longer. She knew that if they chose when she would leave - the whole family would be there to _celebrate _her departure. Christine could barely endure Charlotte - she was certain adding Philippe would be disastrous.

"Leaving?" Daria questioned, clearly enamoured by the new gossip.

"Yes, leaving," Christine nodded, feeling the sweltering grip of bravery as she added, "_Tomorrow._"

Charlotte blinked a few times, muted by Christine's sudden change of heart. Of course, she must be _shocked! _How different Christine seemed from the faint, limp little doll she was liberated to throw around only a few days ago.

"Yes." Christine nodded, "By this time tomorrow - you and your family are free to obliterate your niece and I from _all _your memories." _Not that you had not done that already_, her mind icily added as she locked eyes with Charlotte again. Inside, Christine had hoped that she would see a change of heart there - something that indicated a _mark _of decency. A mark of kindness. But there was none she could see.

"Christine you have _brought _this upon yourself." Charlotte stated grimly, "I have not forced you to leave."

"Now you do not ever have to." Christine lifted her head up sombrely and released her tone of mockery. She eyed Charlotte - the memory of their first meeting flitting into her mindset. Christine had been so excited! So excited to meet Raoul's family for childishly, she had thought that they would have as hearts as big as his. Raoul had paraded her proudly, holding her close with secure affection - inducing her with the impression that she _belonged_. But the joy was not to last as she approached Charlotte. For her spirit was to be destroyed by Charlotte's first simple words of greeting,

_Oh. You had meant her?_

"I had always _tried _to satisfy your family," She murmured softly, eyes glazing over as she avoided the woman's gaze, "Raoul was always so _hurt _by the way you treated me that he turned a blind eye to it. You cannot say I did not _try_ because I did...I have appreciated, the years you have housed Rosa and I - so do not say I was ungrateful," Christine began to walk backwards as she gave them a long, final stare - the both of them entirely engrossed in what she was saying.

"But I _pray _for your family, Charlotte," She dictated, "Because I think you are _barely _a family at all."

With that, Christine turned and left, eyes filling with tears. It was regret. But not regret for what she had just done - but regret that she had not done this sooner. For she knew, Raoul would have aided her. It was her who should have taken the first step - her, who should have never been afraid.

* * *

><p>In the end, Christine decided that dawn could not come much sooner.<p>

Arriving home at midday, she knew her mind had been convinced. There was no need to wait for tomorrow - for they had nothing to wait _for. _They were to leave the house tonight - so if the thin, meagre chance that anyone attempted to see their exit tomorrow, it shall be too late. She had sat on the bed, pensive - only disturbed by Rosa welcoming her home with a loving embrace. "Mama," She had murmured - clearly noticing the change in her mother's expression, "Mama..." Christine had glanced into her daughter's eyes, graced her forehead with an affectionate kiss and reached for the young girl's hand.

"You must get your things, Rosa," She had told her firmly - ignoring the wide-eyed look that her daughter had plastered on her clearly baffled face.

"What _for _Mama?" The girl asked innocently.

Christine merely sighed in response, "Gather your things, Rosalie."

"You mean to get my things like I would on a _vacation_? Are we going on vacation?" There had been a brightness in her daughter's voice - such a sharp glee that Christine could not with the whole of her heart extinguish. She had simply pressed a weak, uneasy smile on her lips and pulled the small girl into a comforting hug.

"Yes, my darling," Christine had murmured, compressing tears as she found refuge in her daughter's warmth, "It is a little like a vacation."

Of course the very word had excited Rosa to the point of combustion. The small girl had shrieked - overjoyed - and had spent the afternoon in her room packing toys and clothes into her suitcase. Christine had watched, smiling tenderly as the young girl skipped around. That was what Raoul had wanted for Rosa. For her to grow up without knowledge of the grimness in the life of her parents - for her to grow up happy and simple. She was too young to understand what was happening now. And so, Christine knew better than to tell her. After all, she doubted that it had entirely dawned on Rosalie that her Papa was never going to come back. The fact that the girl had not shed a tear yet was a clear enough sign that she bordered on denial.

But she was a child; what could Christine do?

She had spent the afternoon pondering this matter. And concluded, that she would do nothing.

Now, the sun had just lapsed into the horizon and everything had grown dark. Christine had found that cleaning the place of their posessions was effortless for they did not own very much. They had brought clothes and Rosa's things. The rest stayed. They were not hers. And Christine refused the risk of trouble by taking anything that she was uncertain of.

She had no specific plan as to where Rosa and her were to go - only to a hotel they may find room for the night at least. Christine had her own savings she could use until she could work. _Sigh. _Everything was a mess. A _large _question mark. But Christine knew that despite this, it felt _right_. And if anything, it felt good to rid of this weight. To cut the final string from the De Chagny's.

"Thank you, Francoise," She smiled at her coach driver fondly, "For everything."

"It was my pleasure, Madame." He answered as they both glanced at Rosa who lay, sleeping inside the carriage - enveloped in a thick, velvet blanket.

They laughed a little. Christine knew that out of everything - it was the employees who worked at the house that she would miss the most. For they had been as loyal to her as they had been to Raoul. "Francoise - would you mind if I - if I come back to the house for a moment? It should only be a second - I would just...check that I have gathered everything." She smiled, softly.

"That would not be a problem, Madame."

Nodding politely, Christine pushed the small gate and glanced at their home one more time. She found a large smile sweeping over her face as memories of her first night here with Raoul pushed into her mind. The _joy _she had felt at the idea of having their own home! It was the biggest and the most beautiful place she had seen. A thing of utter beauty. But to Christine, it had always been too big. Too large for the three of them.

_A little house by the seaside, Christine. How does that sound? We'll live humbly. As shopkeepers?_

_Raoul. Do you mean that?_

_Of course. We will grow old at our little house by the beach. You will sing as we watch our grandchildren do tumbles in the sand - do not laugh! Christine! Time will pass!_

His voice fell into her memory and instantly she found herself pining for it. It had been so _long_ - just to hear him say her name _one more time_... it would make it easier. Christine sighed and shook her head sorrowfully. She always knew Raoul had longed for the simple life they had talked about in the period of their engagement - but his work did not permit this. In all honesty, Christine understood for they both had to compensate for the things life could not provide. Raoul gave up his dream of Rosalie growing up by the sea and Christine surrendered music.

Running her hands over the icy, wooden fence with a small breath, Christine glanced up at the sky.

"Raoul my love," She breathed, "You have given us the most _beautiful _home." A breeze came over her; the feeling caressed her cheeks and she found her eyes flickering shut. It was an odd feeling - but she almost felt him _present. _And that was enough to fill her eyes with large, warm tears. The ache inside of her seemed to return and within seconds she found herself brushing the falling tears with a shaking finger.

Still, she knew the house deserved a good word.

"You have given us the most beautiful home... but this cannot be home for us a-a-anymore." She breathed out, retrieving her hand and crossing her arms over her chest as she looked at the large, gloomy windows that seemed to stare at her as she stepped out. The house - it was only a house now. Not a home. It was dark, empty and hollow inside. They did not belong there. If they were to move forward - this must be done. _Goodbye_, her mind sung. She found a tear falling. _It must be done..._

Even if the pain was piercing through her, it must. Smiling faintly at Francoise's direction, Christine boarded the carriage.

She did not look back.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

Probably the last/one of the last chapters where it shall only be Christine's point of view. So if you're sick of her, (huzzah!). Erik's mindset has been a bit absent the past few chapters but the turning point shall be the next - so, you shall find out a bit more about his _interesting _five years in a few moments. I'm beginning to miss Raoul, which is a bit odd, I must say. Considering how he was killed.

Anyway - yes Christine grew a spine! Fantastic! And I hope you guys enjoy this one. Even though its SICKENINGLY wordy. You shall get to meet Rosa in the next one - so prepare your little girl genes as she's really very little girl-y. Anyway, thanks as always and I'm so pleased you guys stick by me so well. And to Lady Cavalier - I hope you're alright! My life is exactly the same :L hope you get your CPU back soon! And to the rest of you, I'm hoping you are all still having a pleasant week. Thanks as always!


	6. Vacations

_**Vacations**_

"Rosa, darling - have you said your prayers?"

"Yes, Mama." Rosa rolled her eyes in slight annoyance - much to her mother's amusement as she yawned and slipped into the bed. How funny this vacation was! She was very much looking forward to it for the last vacation they had was a lovely trip to the seaside with Papa of which she had never laughed so much in her life! Rosa was certain that this trip would be no different. However, it did make her very curious why it was that they were not _by _the sea. In fact, they had not been very far at all! She was certain she had seen this hotel before.

Rosa had an image of a holiday and it always involved lots of sand.

She could not find sand here. Rubbing her eyes tenderly, the small blonde girl wriggled into her bed covers uncomfortably. She listened out for her mother as she entered the bedroom from the bathroom and poked her head out of the top of the blanket. It was very dark now. The good thing was that Rosa was not _scared_ of the dark. _Eeeek! _She found herself whimpering as a shadow danced across the far wall. Maybe she was a little frightened! But Amelle, her governess had told her that being scared was fine for little girls like Rosalie. Of course, she tried as hard as she could to not be scared of many things.

Unlike Georgiette. She shivered, knowing how much she disliked Georgiette. Even though they were neighbours, she knew that girl made her want to pull out her hair. "Mama..." Rosa whined breathlessly as she looked around the room. It was difficult to make shapes in the darkness but she already knew she did not like this one bit. Rosa had trouble sleeping in places that was not her bedroom and she knew this would be no different.

"Yes, Rosa?"

"Are we going to stay in here for very long?"

"My love - we _have _just arrived."

Rosa produced a loud, weary yawn and she felt her head plop heartily down on the pillow once more. She lolled her head from side to side and sighed. Out of comfort, she held even tighter to her toy monkey. "I don't think I want to be on vacation anymore, Mama..." She murmured, hearing her mother's chuckle resonate from the gloominess.

"Is that so?"

"Yes," Rosa managed as she found herself drifting off into a gentle slumber, "...I want to go _home_."

If Rosa had stayed awake for a moment longer - she would have seen her mother freeze at her words and sigh.

* * *

><p>Skipping.<p>

Rosa liked to skip. Taking Ludo, her faithful sidekick - she skipped through the empty hallways of the hotel. A girl and her toy monkey - a simple yet effective duo. She had been told by Mama to not go far - and she hadn't! For she could remember where she had just gone and could easily retrace her steps. It was just because that Rosa had difficulty in staying still. Papa had always called her _Wriggly Rosa_ - because when she was struck with boredom, she would be off skipping in no time. Rosa liked it though. Her Mama did not - because Rosa got bored very easily.

And apparently that was troublesome when she was trying to find her. But Rosa did not understand why Mama _complained _so often. It was much more difficult skipping than searching! Like it was more difficult hiding than seeking!

_Simple_, really. And in Rosa's opinion, she was right. Reaching the end of a corridor, Rosa furrowed her eyebrows as she eyed the diverting corridors. A corridor to her left. And one to her right. A dilemma! She was not very good at those. A finger on a dimple on her cheek, the small girl swayed side to side as she thought very hard of what she was meant to do. Considering she could not think of one - she decided that _Ludo _could pick. Glancing at the small, buttoned eyes of the toy monkey, Rosa giggled delightfully as his loose arms seemed to sway to the left.

As Papa used to say -

"You're the boss!" And gleefully, Rosa skipped through to the corridor on the left, deciding that she was finding this vacation a lot better today than she had yesterday. She could not wait to see what she may find in this new place! She could find _treasure_! Or...a ghost...

Or a crown. Because Rosa's favourite disguise involved a princess of sorts.

* * *

><p>Rosa decided that there was definitely something different about Mama. Sipping her drink curtly, legs swinging, Rosa noted something different on her Mama's face. She was not sure what it was - and she could never ask for <em>she was never old enough. <em>Even though Rosa was almost six - apparently that was still too young! She did not understand. In _her _opinion, she was not as little as she once had been and was certain that they should treat her as such.

"Mama, are you sad again?"

The abruptness of the question caused her mother to stop her fork from entering her mouth halfway. Rosa did not notice and merely observed - her large eyes wide and inquisitive as it would form when she desired something. She had a gaze that proclaimed such true innocence that it was difficult to deny her of what she wanted. But her Mama seemed to have learnt the trick of the trade and merely smiled,

"Why would you say that, Rosa?" She asked, brushing a few strands of Rosa's golden hair off her face, "Don't concern your lovely little mind about worries like that..._now_, what have you and Ludo been doing today?"

Easily distracted, Rosa grinned widely and cuddled the brown monkey close to her chest. She knew her Mama always said never to bring Ludo at mealtimes but he could not be left in the room all alone! He did not know his way around and could get lost! Or worse... he could be stolen from her. And Rosa would never _ever _let that happen to Ludo. She had promised.

"We've been exploring." Rosa stated with an excited grin.

Her mother grinned back. "Found anything interesting in your expeditions?"

There was a slight crease in the young girl's face as she shook her head. Goodness. Maybe Rosa _swore _she had looked in the right places but she had not found ghost nor treasure! It was a fumbly business being an explorer. Maybe being a princess would be a better plan of action.

"Not yet," She said with a slight pout of the lips, "But Ludo and I are still searching." Her Papa had always said to be _resilient_! Rosa did not know what that meant (for she had forgotten to ask him) but she supposed it meant never giving up. And that was always sound advice.

"Good," Her mother nodded before tapping on the green peas she had left out. Rosa poked out her tongue in disgust. Peas were disgusting in her opinion. Beneath her mother's stare though - they almost looked appetizing and with a sharp inhale, Rosa devoured a spoonful.

Yuckety-yuck!

"That's disgusting." Rosa croaked, feeling like she had eaten a mound of dirt. Lucky Ludo! Mama never made him eat any horrible, icky vegetables. But she supposed monkeys didn't eat vegetables. They ate _bananas. _Everyone knew that.

"They're lovely," Her Mama cooed before shaking her head at her with a small laugh, "Now _eat _them please."

"No."

Her Mama seemed to be growing more annoyed, "Rosa, your Papa always said you _must _eat everything - remember?"

"Well Papa's not _here _is he?"

Rosa's answer seemed to silence her mother clean. She did not understand why; she was just pointing out the obvious. Mm. Staring at her mother silently eating, Rosa surrendered and began to eat her peas.

Grown-ups. They were all too confusing.

* * *

><p>"Rosalie Yvette De Chagny. Do <em>not <em>wander off, do you understand?"

Rosa nodded for what seemed like the _thousandth _time. Mama was _so _irritating sometimes! She just liked to repeat things over...and...over like Rosa had not listened. It was a very annoying habit and she was certain her Mama did it to be a nuisance as she knew how Rosa hated being lectured about little tiny things. That was why she had not liked her tutor much. But she supposed that Madame Vettel's voice was also to blame for Rosa's misbehaviour - it wasn't her fault that her voice was so dull that she could put even Ludo to sleep!

"I am just going _across _the street - there, the shop do you see it?"

"_Yes _Mama." Rosa sighed, growing exasperated.

"Fine. I shall only be a moment, okay my love?"

Watching as her Mama disappeared through the doors, Rosa sat, humming a happy tune as she held Ludo tightly in her arms. Mama said she would be back _very _soon so that meant to wait long. That was good for Rosa got impatient _very _quickly. Uncle Philippe always got angry when Rosa fidgeted and looked for things to do. But that was because Uncle Philippe was a _pansy. _That was what Papa always told her.

It was here as Rosa was looking around that she heard the high-pitched _scream. _She jumped instantly and looked around - as with everyone else in the room - at a large, red-faced woman who was screaming,

"IT IS A _RAT! _A RAT IN THE 'OTEL!"

A _rat? _Oh how interesting! Engrossed, Rosa listened as an echo of screams poisoned through the crowd as the rat scuttled past. She glanced down and found a mischievous grin spread across her face as the little creature crawled along the carpet - completely unaware by the commotion that was surrounding its impromptu appearance. She scooted off her seat and with Ludo in her hand began to follow it. Of _course _it was much quicker than she had thought. She was not sure why she was following it - but she found herself with the _irrepressible _need to do so.

Before she knew it, she was out of the hotel doors. Still the rat was ahead of her. Breathless, Rosa quickly sped of after it. "Come back!" She shrieked, "Come back! I do not mean harm!"

A little flushed, the small blonde girl found herself losing sight of the rat as she _stumbled_ on the slippery ice below. Rosa pressed down a massive scream as she landed on her behind with a thud. She knew instantly that her leg had taken a fumble for it throbbed as she hit the ground. At the same time, Ludo slipped from her fingertips and she found herself gasping in horror as she watched the toy monkey slide away from her reach.

Everything seemed to be in slow motion as she whipped her head around and heard the gallops of a horse.

She screamed.

Rosa had slipped right in the middle of the road! Oh no! Mama had said not to - _but I didn't mean to - _Ludo! _My Ludo! _The horses...she was going to be _flattened..._Frightened and trembling - accompanied with the searing pain in her leg - Rosa found herself doing the only thing she could. The thing she always did when she got scared of anything.

Rosa took a large, deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

* * *

><p>The fact that he had opted to stand in the cold instead of wallowing in the conviviality of his hotel room seemed to have been for a purpose.<p>

He had been merged in the crowd; a newspaper concealing his face as his eyes dully wandered over the various stories. The loudness of the people around him became drowned in his concentration. It was the scream from inside the hotel that broke it - a loud, exaggerated sound that forced his fingers to curl in annoyance. It was that noise that brought him back to the bustle of Paris. Glancing at the various figures that stood by him - most with pipes of tobacco in hand - he had wordlessly decided that perhaps returning to his quarters would be best. Theatrics at this time of day was something he did not appreciate as with all the commotion it entailed. Determined, he had motioned forwards only for something to _dash _past him and catch his eye.

It was a child. He could never explain what it was that had brought his eyes to the flash of movement but he had eyed the child as she fell from slipping on the ice. The stupidity of such an action was only magnified by the fact that she had landed in the middle of a relatively busy road. The insolence of it should have been enough to repel him. But before he had even realized it, he had pulled the small girl off the road out of the way of a travelling carriage that had charged towards her. _Why, Erik_! His mind hissed as he found himself holding the silent girl, eyes wide with confusion and spite. The child had her eyes shut when he had salvaged her and had now just opened them - reflexively meeting his own. He found himself locked in a stare with her for a few seconds. She said nothing.

A hoard of people began to surround them - encapsulated by the idea of news. _Must you be so stupid?_

He instantly released her as a figure of aid came forwards. Retreating, he blended into the concerned crowd with little effort. People had suffocated her now - all wanting to make sure that she was alive. He was not a man who saved people. But perhaps there had been a stroke in his mind which realized that if no-one gripped reality and pulled her to safety, she would be trampled to her grave. But children? They were hardly important to him. Contemplating it to his wits end, it was only as he eyed the child that it dawned on him why it was that she had taken his gaze. _Oh_, his mind bluntly answered. _Am I certain_? As he thought this - a face appeared across him. Delved in the crowd, a face. His eyes widened momentarily.

_No._

He was being summoned. _No! _But it was a face he could not deny. Erik paled.

"My, God!" A woman from the crowd exclaimed, "We must thank _him_! He is the one who saved the girl!"

There was a rattle of agreeable chatters as the crowd pivoted their heads.

But the man they spoke of was gone.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

Oh, Erik. You modest devil ;) Being the unhappy superhero as per norm. So I adored writing this chapter - because Rosa & her precious Ludo just made me smile. But yes, where is Erik going? UM. Yes. A bit of a topsy-turvy chapter this one.

Right, so thanks as always! Next chapter coming up shortly. Hoping you're all dandy! And I'm so pleased you're all hanging on (pleased you got it back, Lady Cavalier!) - I really am moved by the positivity. And also.. THE READERS FROM GUAM! Hullo! I don't know why I'm saying hello to you in particular but because there's only two of you (and I don't know anything about Guam) - so hullo! And to the Philippines as well. Mabuhay. ;)

Hope you're all dandy readers! And the weather is nice... cause the weather in the UK is laughable. x_x


	7. Friend

[A/N -an author's note in the beginning! It cannot be! But just to not confuse you (as I am afraid I might have, super apologies! This is the chapter where we catch a glimpse of what Erik has been up to the past five years... and yes, he sort of lied to Christine - composing is not _all _that he's been doing... enjoy!]

**_Friend_**

"_Frère Jacques, frère Jacques_," Rosa hummed tunefully as she combed her china doll's hair, "_Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?"_

The small girl looked up at her mother, who stared - eyes bloodshot and teary - at the wall above her bed. She had not talked to Rosa in a while and that had concerned the girl greatly. Rosa was not sure how many times she had told her Mama how sorry she was about what had happened. In fact, she was certain that she had apologized so many times that she could not _possibly _apologize any more.

She did not like it when Mama was sad.

Rosa felt herself whimper a little as she remembered what happened. She had heard her Mama scream - oh how _frightened _she was! And Rosa had cried too of course for her leg felt awfully poorly. She was afraid she had broken it as apparently a broken limb ached dreadfully. Fortunately, she hadn't. She had been carried upstairs (back to their room, where she was now) and inspected by the hotel practitioner. Apparently it was a mere bruise and it should not prove troublesome in a few days. However, despite this - Mama was _still _worried. And still very sad. She was certain she had not seen Mama so sad...not since -

Since Papa left.

"Mama." Rosa called out faintly, watching as her Mama's blank eyes turned towards her. The faintness disappeared for a moment and a small smile appeared in greeting.

"Yes, my dear?"

"Please don't cry, anymore."

Releasing her doll from her hand, Rosa lifted her arms in a gesture for her mother's embrace. Her mother glanced at her and her eyes instantly softened. She came towards her and with a small sigh wrapped her arms around her affectionately. Rosa closed her eyes and found her eyes filling up with little tears as she exhaled. She tried to move a little to give her Mama space but found herself hindered,

"No Rosa, you must not move so much. Your leg is still poorly."

Her mother smiled and held her closer. Rosa nodded obediently deciding her Mama's instruction knew best. She should have been a good daughter and followed her Mama! Why must she have been so disloyal? Now she had hurt her leg and worse - she had _lost _Ludo. The fact that she had lost her best companion and the best toy monkey in the globe almost made the little girl whimper again. But she was comforted by her mother's voice.

"Oh, darling. You frightened me so," She murmured, stroking Rosa's gently curled hair, "I do not know if I should survive if _anything _ever happened to you..." There was a crack in her mother's voice which nearly always signalled her Mama's tears; this time however, the tears remained from her face - much to Rosa's satisfaction as she hated seeing her mother cry.

"I'm sorry." Rosa responded, "I shall be careful from now on, Mama. I promise."

"Please." Her mother nodded, a small smile on her pale, tired face as she pulled up Rosa's covers, "Never scare me like that again."

Rosa nodded, pouting a little at the sadness that crossed her mother's lined face. "I won't... I love you very much, Mama."

"I love you too." Her mother seemed to grow a bit happier and Rosa smiled. But the smile dissipated as quickly as it came as the grief came knocking for a good old friend of hers that _lost _in that icy battle on the road.

Her Mama noticed almost instantly. "What is wrong?"

"Ludo," Rosa breathed, sniffing a little as she plopped her head on the pillow and eyed her mother's illuminated face, "I lost him on the road when I fell." She knew her Mama would not find her sadness silly - not like Aunt Charlotte did when she had lost Ludo in Uncle Philippe's house. And she was right for her Mama nodded tenderly and sighed with the same mournful conviction as she had,

"I am sorry."

"He'll never forgive me..." Rosa sighed, feeling like a part of her was lost as she glanced at the empty hadn that normally clutched the soft, toy animal.

"Hush, Rosa - of course he would," Her mother replied kindly before smiling, "Tomorrow. We shall search for him tomorrow, yes?"

Rosa nodded brightly, already eager to sleep (for once). If Mama was looking with her - they must be able to find him! Her mother chuckled and gave her forehead another comforting kiss as she proceeded to close their curtains.

"Now sleep my love. You must rest."

"Goodnight, Mama."

"Goodnight, darling."

A yawn escaped the young girl's lips as the lights disappeared and she felt herself tiredly drift off to sleep. But before she could - an image of something _glowing _slipped through her mind. Her eyes instantly widened and she quickly sat up. Her mother, who was on the bed beside lifted her head - clearly stunned by Rosa's actions - and asked,

"Does something hurt, Rosa?"

"No - no, Mama," Rosa replied, a little dazed as her eyes narrowed in thought, "I just remembered something I had forgotten to tell you."

"Oh?" Her Mama sat up too; Rosa could make her form out in the shadows, "Well, what is it?"

Remembering the eyes quite clearly, Rosa felt the room grow chilly as she reared her head towards her Mama. How could she have forgotten? It was the most important part about the whole afternoon.

"Mama, I _saw _him again."

There was a silence as her mother seemed to contemplate her words. Through the silence, a cautious, "_who_, Rosa?" bellowed out.

"The man." Rosa blinked as she tried to remember but failed - she just remembered the mask...for how could anyone forget such a sight? "The man who gave me the rose. The _Monsieur _in the mask, do you remember Mama?"

Another silence ensued. Rosa sighed supposing her Mama must have forgotten. She pressed her head back down comfortably on the pillow. It was only when she turned her head that she realized that her mother had not yet returned back to her own position on her bed.

"He was the man who saved you, wasn't he?" Her mother's voice questioned in a tone of utter disbelief.

"I think so, Mama." Rosa was oblivious to it as she yawned again, sleepily this time as she felt herself go drowsy, "He had _very _frightening eyes."

"And did you thank this Monsieur, Rosa?"

"No," Rosa answered innocently, "My hurt leg too much and I found it very hard to speak." She had! But also she had lost sight of the Monsieur in the crowd soon enough. Perhaps that was why she had forgotten.

"Well, you must, soon." Her mother's shape in the darkness disappeared as she faded beneath her covers.

Sensing her mother was still not sleeping and still thinking about the matter (although she knew not why) - Rosa decided that she should ask one more question before she fell asleep.

"Mama, do you know him?" She asked innocuously, "The man, I mean?"

"Yes - yes, I do. Rosa." Her mother answered somewhat hesitant.

"Are you - are you _friends_?" Rosa pressed further; she was rather excited for she had never met any of Mama's friends.

There was a sturdy silence before her mother answered,

"One could say that yes." Another pause, "We are friends."

Rosa found herself beaming as she gripped the pillow cover and yawned for the third and final time. She decided, just before she drifted off peacefully to sleep that she must meet Mama's friend. For he seemed like a very interesting fellow.

In the little girl's dreams, the masked man made an appearance. In her reverie, he was kind and gentle.

But his eyes, were still very sad.

* * *

><p>A thin hand turned the final card as the hour struck midnight.<p>

"I win."

A smile, void of any humour unfolded across the man's face.

"It seems that time cannot devastate talent, _Erik._" His eyes inspected the cards forcefully, "Congratulations."

Erik's eyes barely moved as he accepted the praise with a weak nod. His teeth gritted together within his mouth in impatience. Inspecting his opponent's cards, it was clear that he had cheated in a form. Thus, the infuriated look on his face as he realized that despite this he _still _lost. It was unwise - Erik had told him that. But humans had an instinct to not listen to well put advise.

"If this would be all, I would wish to leave." Erik responded coldly, knowing that he should have never followed him after seeing his face in that crowd. _Stupid...Erik..._

"Nonsense, Erik - my _friend! _You have just _arrived_! When I heard you came back to the _splendour _of Paris - I knew we had to meet."

"I do not share that sentiment." Erik watched as the man's face washed over with a look of such _hate _that it was barely recognizable from the mocking facade he had used in the game. He did not change his own, blank look but inside, a similar hatred _burned. _It was amusing, he supposed that the only thing they could possibly share was their equally strong loathing of each other.

Significantly, he came to Paris for one reason. And it was not to _play _a card game he could finish with his eyes blindfolded. Breathing loudly, he eyed the man across him - noting every blink. Every action. For he was not to be trusted. Even now. _Especially _now.

Erik watched as the man took one of his cards and with a musing eye began to examine it. Seeing nothing of importance, he began to express a sickly, false chuckle that made Erik's insides twist with revulsion.

"Would it be _foolish _to check your sleeves?" He asked, mocking.

"I would like to see you try."

The challenge prompted amusement and the other man began to laugh even harder. Erik knew that it was his attempt to frustrate him. How little he had changed. He was still as contemptible as Erik recalled - although he had not expected that to change for time had not spanned for long. People as loathsome as he could not lose such qualities in a lifetime.

"Is it so difficult to admit defeat?" Erik inquired, eyes flashing insolently.

His opponent's face did not retain the false amusement he had paraded around for an hour. Instead, his features took on a graver role. "I am handing you a lifeline, Erik." He stated darkly as the room seemed to lose a background of noise, "It would be wise to take it."

"You have_ nothing_ I want."

Pushing himself off his chair, Erik swept over the table with his hands - his cards disappearing in a flash of movement. Coldly, he turned and heard the sharp screech of the chair's leg scratching on the floor as he sensed that he was being followed. Erik continued through the blackness of the hallway - face burning with rage as he pushed open a door. The door scraped open and instantly, he whipped around - glaring at the face of the other man,

"Once more I say - is it so difficult to admit defeat?" He asked, ruthless.

Erik percieved the change of feeling in the air as the other man's gaze fell on him. There was a silence as he stared back. The only noise that remained was the short, elegant noise of the grandfather clock at the end of the corridor. How _funny _it all seemed to Erik for he remembered a similar scene a while ago. It seemed the events involving them both were drawling out with no originality whatsoever.

"You cannot escape what has _marked _you, Erik. It would be imprudent to try." The other man hissed desolately.

"Then call me _foolish_." The masked man rasped back with equal venom, "What marks me can be _unmarked_."

"Do you not recall the _last _time you had uttered similar words?" The man with hair as pale as snow whistled - sarcastic as he sneered, "Do the wounds still _hurt _Erik? It was not too long ago..."

Erik was silent. _He mocks me like I am a beast - when it is he who is the creature..._

A deep, throaty laugh met his wordless response. "Next time, I should not be so merciful." The man told him, inclining his head, "To you. _And _Khan." He spat the name out like it was dust.

Merciful? Erik lifted his gaze abruptly as a small, nauseating smirk tugged at the edge of his lips.

"Good." He retorted, "Perhaps next time you shall _win_."

In the darkness, his eyes shone brightly as he flicked a _card _in the other man's unsmiling face. A growl resonated and Erik simply turned.

"You should have inspected my sleeves." He remarked, disappearing through the door and fading into the darkness of the street.

* * *

><p><em>You cannot escape what has marked you.<em>

The words followed him as he slipped through the lobby of the hotel. Growling and barely comprehensible, his thoughts began to erupt in directions he could not follow. How weary he was now. How eventful his day had been. First it had been the child - now it was this. Perhaps this was why he did not pay commendation to Paris. Because it plagued him to depths he did not want to submerge himself in anymore. It seemed to despise him - _leading _him into procedures he should not be a factor of. He had wanted this visit to be an intervention to his otherwise lonesome life by seeing - _her._

Reaching his room through the badly lit corridor, the tall man sighed. Time had aged him and he was not as strong as he once had been. He did not possess the vigour and potency he once exuded; time had not been as kind to him as they had been to Christine. Yes, she mourned of her husband. But he had struggled through five years of ghosts - shadows that she had no knowledge of. _You cannot escape what has marked you..._

He must leave Paris soon. _Soon. _Pain impaled him breathless as he eased onto his bed and stared blankly at the ceiling above. The wound throbbed - a reminder of what he must be wary of. Of what could happen. His eyes softened as it absorbed the time on the clock by his table. It was late. But he knew he would not sleep. He very rarely did. Sleep was wasteful of his time; he was also too cautious to lower his guard. Especially now. Trembling, he twisted his head towards the door that he guaranteed was locked. He checked. Twice. Thrice. His chest then heaved up and down in a regular rhythm as he closed his eyes and prayed.

"_Notre Père, qui es aux cieux, que ton nom soit sanctifié.."_

Erik softly prayed to the angels.

The angels that never seemed to listen.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

Back. Hullo again! RIGHT. So Erik, what _have _you been doing man? The '_Notre Pere'_ - is Our Father in French, by the way :D But yes, now - he definitely has something to hide. And he has a poorly back! Bless him. ANYWAY! Still very very happy that you guys are sticking with me. If I could give you all...an Erik, I would (although you don't have to necessarily have MINE...he's a bit... o_o). Um, yeah! Just a warning - I might have delays in the coming future with summer and all but I should get to chapter 10 with no delays.

I'm pleased you find Rosa okay! And I...I can't tell you who the mean man is. (I haven't got a name for him yet...) But awe! Thanks for the comments as always. And INDEED! Well put. Pip-Pip cheerio... scones... and *waves British flag*

*leaves tea.* We do love our tea. Hope you're all still doing fantastically!


	8. Faith

**_Faith_**

This morning's edition of _Le Figaro _was something that drew his tired eyes almost instantly.

Erik was not a doting fan of the press; he was certain that half the things that managed a display on its pages were mangled drivel. But still he read them for the other half - the _true _half - contained affairs that any man should be aware of. Today, he had descended at dawn from his hotel room and had purchased a few different newspapers - _Le Figaro _somehow landing on the very top of the pile. He had glanced at it and found himself engaged by a small story at the bottom of the page about Paris' favourite family.

The nonsensical love affair of the city with the De Chagny's was something Erik could hardly comment on without bias. Lately, because of the Vicomte's untimely passing - the newspapers of Paris seemed to be eager to spur stories and tales about his family to please its audience. Of course, Erik pitied his family for mourning was never a pretty matter - but perhaps pitied the Vicomte more for what he may have endured at the time of his death...

Today, the story about the aristocratic brood was one that prompted a faint crease to form on the man's pale face. Not only was it written in an overstated fashion but it also involved a rather elaborate untruth. It read: _'it seemed that the heartbreak for the De Chagny's do not end at the Vicomte's death as reports have suggested that his young daughter, Rosalie Yvette De Chagny is missing...there are deafening fears of an abduction...' _So Christine had abducted her own daughter.

Interesting.

"Is it a good read?"

Erik, who had been positioned behind the pillar outside the hotel lifted his head an inch to glance over the top of the newspaper. A man was standing by him, gesturing brusquely at what he was reading. Still a little taken by the news, Erik nodded in response,

"Quite." He responded, proceeding on to read the rest of the article.

* * *

><p>She arrived, early.<p>

Seated on the bench, Erik glanced up at her. She was colourless. Her face Erik had noted, had aged significantly since he remembered it. Clearly, the burden of marriage and motherhood had taken its toll on her. He could still vaguely remember the brightness in her eyes and the skip in her step not so long ago... how time had passed. How his little Christine had grown.

"You have read it." Erik stated, observing as she mutely sat next to him and responded with a small, sickly nod. Feeling her so close, he could almost absorb the tension she radiated. He turned his head and stared at her, awaiting a word - a breath to indicate her emotions. She did nothing and was as blank as a wall. Christine. This was not the young woman he had -

He had loved so much.

For the Christine he recalled was brave. Hopeful. Now, she was meek. He could have laughed; as a man who had endured through hardship, he knew how _little _this compared. But she was fragile - and it seemed that life had caught up with her too quickly. How sad her eyes seemed. Deserted. But what could he have offered to allay the pain when everything had not been his doing? Not being able to summon much compassion, Erik remained quiet for a few moments and decided it was he to incite the conversation again,

"Your daughter. I assume she is well." He retorted, goading as much interest in that as he possibly could. _Children_? Whether the girl had been a pauper's swine - or in this case Christine's daughter, Erik knew how little he cared. What had happened yesterday was an anomaly - a glitch in a somewhat perfect system of letting nature take its course. Yes. Perhaps he was being _cruel _about it. But it was true - he tried his best not to concern himself with things that did not hold personal benefits.

For doing so only tempted pain.

He would know. _Children.. you would know about children.._ Breathing inwardly, he had been expecting another wave of silence but was vaguely surprised when Christine turned her head and looked at him for the first time,

"Yes - yes, she is. Thank _you_. She is resting at the moment...she told me - you saved her. Did you?"

The child remembered. Erik mulled over his thoughts for a moment before answering, "An instinctive save; I am pleased she is well."

"I do not know how to thank you." A small rosy shade appeared on her pale cheeks; Erik felt his chest sigh in resolution,

"There is no need."

Christine smiled softly. Erik had forgotten how _pleasurable _it was seeing that curve in her lips. How it had delighted him in those years... for he always took her laugh - her smiles as a _payment_ for her lessons. Because those were things that he never thought he would ever be able to bestow upon another being. _Perhaps Lucifer himself_, his mind calluously drawled before listening to her delicate tone as she spoke,

"I cannot let them take her from me, Erik," She murmured as Erik found himself nodding, "I know this is what they are intending. For despite _all_ - they know that my daughter is a De Chagny..."

Indeed. Imagine the rumours about the manners of the family if it turned out that the dear, rosy-cheeked daughter of the Vicomte had been seized from their beastly grasp. It would make sense to Erik that perhaps, Paris could forget about Christine - the once Vicomtess - but with children... people would ask. _Clever_, his mind complimented, _quite clever..._

"If they _see _her - they shall take her." Erik said pointedly, hearing the gasp in the woman's voice as she nodded.

"I am at a loss." Christine admitted, "It is as if life is trying to take her from me."

_It is as if life is trying to take her from me. _A well uttered line, Erik must say. And one he was personally denying to be a line he had uttered to himself once upon a time. He looked at her - with honesty this time and did feel something in his chest that he had forgotten about for a lengthy while. His _heart. _Feeling its sturdy rhythm, Erik realized he had almost thought it absent. But hearing her now was like a spring awakening.

Almost like it had been before. "Then flee." He said firmly and without ruling, "Flee with your daughter, Christine."

He had watched the indignation roar in her eyes as he said those words. But he remained sombre for he did not suggest through amusement but through genuine care. For Erik had promised her that he would be here. And here he was. He knew how she must stop thinking like a _Vicomtess _because that was what shall demolish her life. She must think like a _mother. _

_Like someone who loves. _"I can take you somewhere."

The look on her face was one that Erik could not comprehend fully. It was such a mix of many that he found his own eyes hardening in confusion. Her beautiful eyes - always so effortless in conveying emotions... but they were not the same now. They were _harsher_ - more desolate. And he saw nothing. He listened for her reply.

"I cannot do that... it makes me seem like an _offender_ of sorts. She is _my _daughter."

Erik could have laughed. "You shall be rousing _war _with the most powerful aristocrats, Christine. Daughter or not - they shall do everything to have her," His fingers hovered over the newspaper page that lay neatly on his lap, "You do not require much evidence to know _that._"

"But-"

"_Think _of it. They shall take your daughter, and what power do you have?"

"I can try...Erik - I can -" She stammered - desperate.

"Do you _wish _to stay here in Paris? Is _this _where you wish to live?"

"I don't - I don't _know._ I have not..." Christine sighed outwardly. She looked up at him.

Erik copied the sigh, chest heaving, "They _only _want the _child_, Christine." _They have no interest in you... _

His eyes grew cold as they met hers for -_ah, now I understand..._A glow formed in his eyes. A glow from understanding.

"This is nothing _about _that, is it? You are frightened of _me! _It is _me_." Erik managed, frigidly glancing away, "You cower from my offer of help... because of me..."

She looked away from him with shame.

_Oh Christine, how you hurt your angel... _Erik remembered those words. It was that singular night when Christine had been a mere adolescent and she had omitted their practice for an extra lesson to practice her arabesque and f_ouetté en tournant_ She had returned, elated by what she had done but he had waited in the shadows - raging! For she had _promised_ she would commit to their lessons and now she had broken it. How apologetic she became when she heard his soft cries echo through her walls... since then, her obedience became unblemished. And they flourished as a team.

He felt a similar pain now as she detached herself from him. He was offering aid she did not wish to accept. _Why not_? Erik supposed that in her mind, circles and colours of memories were replaying through her head. Him. Erik. The _tyrant _that had gripped her breathless. The _monster_ with the face of a demonic soldier... the man with the ghosts of those he murdered in his eyes - and he knew, he could not deny that he had not changed.

But he would never hurt Christine. He would be fearful of hurting her very fingertips! She was precious to him - even now! Five years had changed Erik. He was now - after the events of yesterday - paying the price for what he had committed. But he knew that one thing could not change and that was his affection for his young, beautiful primadonna. He would protect her; the pain of the consequences of this he would endure as he had done before. He was here whenever she mourned and lamented. Just like he had with her dear, Papa.

Erik had known that Raoul's death would punish her. And he had to be certain that life should give her at least one hand to take.

His. "Christine, you must look at me." Erik ordered tonelessly.

She obliged and her eyes were weak with feeling. He felt his own eyes soften - as his spine shuddered against the icy, brush of the wind,

"You must _compel _yourself to _look _at me..." Erik murmured, watching as her eyes glazed with tears. He could feel the desperation creep in his tone as he felt the urge to plead... _Christine I love you... _"Can you trust me, Christine?"

There was no answer. Erik nodded and softly landed a hand on the top of the newspaper. He then flicked his gaze up at her once more. She would be safe with him. She _must _understand that... for yes - his own past was chasing him...but that was all forgotten now. It was she who mattered! Who _always mattered... Erik must protect his angel..._

"I cannot comfort you forever." He told her, anxiously lowering his gaze, "There is only so much of my time I can spend here." For Paris was watching him. _There is only so long I can run..._ It was here as he was glancing unfeelingly at the ice around them that he realized that she had turned her eyes on him again.

The tears that had fallen had created streaks down her pale face. Erik could see how despite the years had aged her - she still retained the heart of _little Christine Daae. _The sincere, broken little wallflower of the Opera Populaire. The piece of art that he discovered and sculpted for all the world to see... despite all, he knew equally how little she had changed. And how her eyes declared the same goodness as they had all those years ago. His Christine... _always such a good, nice girl...always so caring of her angel..._

"I can trust you." She breathed - just loud enough for him to hear. Erik looked at her and nodded, knowing how long those words had been deprived from him.

"Bless you, Christine."

He knew she did not mean it. She could not trust him - at least, not in the manner that she was entirely certain of him. But if she was willing to pretend then so was he. Christine needed strength - she needed spirit. Things that must be returned to her if she is ever to retrieve herself from the shadows she had plunged herself in. She must be strong again.

As Erik sat, watching as Christine brushed the tears off her face with a hankerchief - his eyes hardened. Everything was so calm suddenly. It all seemed so effortless. _Christine shall come away... I shall protect her once more... _

_Le calme avant la tempête... _"The calm before the storm." He slipped between his teeth as he solemnly glanced back at her. Could he deal with this now? It was different now for he was an equally different man. He was not as Christine remembered him. He did not possess the spell that suffocated the Populaire to its knees... he had _aged _now. The illusionist had all but perished. But he must protect her for he vowed to. _Erik is still strong.._

His skull ached.

_They shall scour the gutters of Paris for you... _

"We shall act as soon as we can." Erik said, swallowing feverishly as his eyes grew dismal, "We must." _I must._

* * *

><p>There was determination in his eyes. Christine found herself faintly nodding at his words. She was not sure how many times she had almost sobbed this morning when she had read the newspaper. But she kept strong for Rosa was still in pain because of her injured leg. She had come to the park with little hope of salvaging the confidence she had built up over the few days. As she had walked, she had felt like throwing up. For everything she had created in her head came crashing down.<p>

The last tie to the De Chagny's? She had thought that they would leave her be. _Like they had wanted! _But no. Now, they were going to come after the only thing that kept her heart beating. Christine knew how she would react if they ever took Rosalie away from her and in the end - that was what had lead her to the spontaneous decision of trusting the masked man. Her teacher. Her angel. The _man _who knew everything about her -

But still somehow remained a stranger. She knew that Rosa and her did not belong in Paris anymore. But to come and seek help from someone she had just resumed contact with a few days ago? _He almost killed Raoul... the lunatic from the Opera House, have you forgotten? _Christine had almost declined. She had. _But this is too fast..._

She appreciated his help but the rush of emotions that came with his words almost broke her down.

She had opened her mouth to state this. But then she looked into his eyes and saw those eyes that proclaimed no devil. They were so honest. And _still _after all this time, so familiar. It dawned on her that he was the only supporter she had left by her side. Yesterday, she had left Rosa to visit the bank and check on her finances - to see how long it was that she could support them with her savings. It was sad to say that the outlook was grim.

_You must face the truth. _She had nothing. And the idea that after all these years, he would still offer help - he would still _be _so loyal fought victory over her doubts. Because sometimes...

One had to take a leap of faith.

No matter how gigantic. She looked at him, truthfully. He looked back. For a second, no words came out. They just breathed - left with the feelings and thoughts of what they were about to bear. For each had a different pain and a different obstacle to defeat. Only one thing differed.

Now, they had each other.

"I have tried to forget the past." Christine murmured, smiling at him thoughtfully.

She noticed that he seemed distant. His glowing eyes seemed to be directed in a place only he knew. Christine wondered what he was thinking about. What it was that went on in a mind such as his. How pained his eyes looked. How lonely.

"I have too." Erik murmured back, his mind adding an echo of,

_And now it has cursed me._

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**

The De Chagny's just WON'T leave poor Christine alone! :'( They want Rosa - not her! But Erik's here now! So it's okay! And YES! Erik has definitely done something very stupid. There is Nadir [yaaay] but he's no better at not being stupid. Anyway, thanks for the lovely reviews as per norm. And HULLO TO PHILLIPINES & GUAM! You have no idea how your hello's have made my dull day here in the UK super joyful. God I miss Manila (I'm half ;)) - so anyway, _thank you_!

I believe I've grown an addiction to everyone's lovely comments. And I'm sorry this took longer than usual to update. I must have re-updated this about fifteen times. Poor document. Anyway, Ludo - _is _from Labyrinth... good call! I take inspiration (for Rosalie) from my own seven year old nightmare. So yeah. It's a working progress! And LadyCavalier - oh how I wish I could give you a tour of the UK! We are a generally jolly bunch. But equally (at least in my opinion) - quite moan-y and we love queues! (that's getting in line!) Lotsa people love theatre. And soap operas. And um... not all of us are in love with the royal family. Haha. And we LOVE STARBUCKS. I don't have one in my town.. but I still express great joy for its invention. I think it's the best thing since sliced bread. ;)

Mm. *offers custard creams* Thanks a lot, guys. My holiday is coming up. But I'll try and get as many updates until then.


	9. Day

**_Day_**

One day. They had one day in Paris.

The memory of the conversation with Erik yesterday was - admittedly - a blur but she remembered him saying - _day. _They had one more day here. And then they were to leave and accompany him to escape the city - to be withdrawn into the shield of the outskirts. Christine had paled, absolutely terrified. She could not remember the last time she had left Paris. She could not remember anything _but _Paris. As a child, she had fawned at the joy of the city - at the beauty and elegance. Now, she buried herself from it for the city was keeping her prison. It was threatening them both; telling her how they did not belong.

Christine knew they had to leave. And they_ had_ to leave with him. She was aware - inwardly - how much she cared for her Angel. How much time she had devoted in praying for his safety. But in her heart, a dark shade remained. A shade that seemed to make her doubtful. A feeling that she should not take his word as she had before. In the end, Christine supposed that trust had become very difficult for her ever since meeting Raoul's family. She had trusted them and they had discoloured her trust with hate. She was merely afraid.

Because she did not want to be hurt anymore.

"Rosa, you _must _keep it on."

"But, Mama... I can barely see."

Sighing, Christine glanced down and adjusted Rosa's cloak vehemently. She had not possessed the heart to tell the young girl about the situation. Considering that she was still shaken by the ordeal of the road and the horses, Christine dared not hinder her recovery. In addition to that, Rosa was a child. Although she understood that her Aunt Charlotte had not been pleasant to her Mama - she would not understand the sheer depth of this resentment. _She despises me so that she wills for you to be taken from me_, her mind breathed.

Holding her daughter's hand firmly, Christine weakly eyed the gate of the cemetery. She was not sure how many hours she had spent grieving over Raoul. She still _was. _But today, it was not his tomb that she had opted to visit (it was too risky; she was certain that people would be watching Raoul's grave) but the only other person she had mourned so sincerely for. The person who always listened but was never there. The man she had missed so dearly despite all the years that had divided them.

Her father.

* * *

><p>There had been a time when Christine had visited her father's grave at the end of every week. She would travel here by herself whenever she recieved the time, lay flowers and tell him about all the wondrous things they had learnt at rehearsals. She would ramble on about <em>shows <em>and _Madame Giry _and her fellow ballerinas. About her dreams, her worries - about her Angel, of course. Despite the fact that she knew he would never respond, Christine found great consolation in the silence the cemetery gave her. Somehow, in her heart - she knew he listened to her every word.

It was not just her will to talk that forced her to visit her Papa. Christine remembered how she would visit when she was scared. Alone. _When the world has turned its back_. The woman could distinctly remember coming her instantly after the events of _Don Juan _and sobbing as she lit a candle. Christine had felt so broken from the experience - so disoriented from everything that had happened. Because every life that had been lost - every tear that had fallen- they all started with _love. _Love. _It had started so beautifully_, she had cried out in the darkness, _why must have things happened like they have? _

Over time, she had lost the time to visit her father. Rebuked and berated for leaving the manor, Christine had been confined to live the life of a wife and care for Rosa. She had only visited when it came to her father's anniversary or his birthday. But even that took a lot of vindication to arrange.

As she glanced now at the dead, broken flowers that scattered over his grave, Christine could not help but feel that sharp stab of guilt. She had failed as a daughter; how long had her Papa been left in such darkness? She should have done this because she had wanted to. Not like now where she _had _to. Fingers hovering over the white, dusty candle that she had left the last time she visited, Christine lit it silently.

Tears formed in her eyes. She gazed at Rosa, hazel eyes softening as her daughter placed the fresh, bundle of roses on top with affection. Christine had told the little girl endless stories about Daddy Daaé - of course, time had worn away some of the memories and she was left to fill the gaps with a few twists of truths here and there... but the message remained. _My Papa loved me very much.. as yours loved you. _It only occurred to Christine now that Rosa had lost her father about as early as she had. This only caused her to hold her daughter's hand even tighter.

Despite that, she convinced herself that this was different from her own experience. Because Rosalie had a mother now. A mother who would give her all the love she could ever need. All the love, she may have lost in the anguish.

Christine swallowed and felt her chest tighten as she said the Lord's prayer respectfully. Rosa had left her side now, arranging the flowers on the other side of the tomb. She took this time as the moment to speak. _How long it had been - why so long? This had always provided me with the solace I needed... I should have never felt lonely... _It had been weakness; she had wanted to desperately to be accepted by the De Chagny's that she obliged to their every ask. Even if it was meant to cause her heartbreak.

"Papa," She breathed, words lifting from her lips like a song, "Please forgive me. I may not seem loyal but I am. I have missed you, dearly... say you are still watching over me... for I feel so alone." A hand fleeting over the crushed flowers, Christine pressed her lips together as she shook her head. _How unfaithful you have been. You should have visited him often. As a good daughter._

She then brushed off a solemn tear as she murmured, "Listen to me father... for your little girl is so _frightened_," Christine exhaled as she flickered her eyes shut comfortingly. She continued, "So... so frightened." The candle seemed to flicker as the wind gently scraped past it. A chill shuddered down her spine and that only seemed to entice the tears further. _Do not cry for me Christine, _her Papa had said, _for I shall be in heaven. _"I still wish you were here," Christine lowered her gaze as she opened her eyes once more, "Because I need my father so..."

An echo of an old song began to reverberate through her thoughts. The words - hauntingly beautiful and after all this time, still so painfully true. "Watch over me, Papa." Christine said, voice reduced to a thin whisper, "Please let no harm come to my daughter and I... _keep me strong._"

_Please. _"I'm sorry." She finished, momentarily distracted by the peaceful glaze of the candle-light. It brought back the dusty, foggy afternoons as a young girl and picking the grass at the bottom of the grave. How innocent those memories were; she never quite realized the impact of grief until very late in her youth. It had been those moments - the occasional silence when she would still hear her father's violin that the sorrow would return to her.

"Why are you sorry, Mama?" It was Rosa who disturbed her distant reverie. Christine detached herself from the tomb and reached out to take the young girl's hand once more.

Rosa complied and returned to her side. "I don't know my love," She sighed honestly, "A lot of things. Sometimes... you just have to _say _sorry. You don't need a reason. You just - need to." Christine offered Rosa a smile and gave her hand a squeeze.

There was a brief expression of confusion on the girl's face. "I'm sorry, Mama." She said sheepishly, looking up at her. Christine chuckled softly, giving her a nod of the head,

"I'm sorry too, darling." The blonde just giggled back. Christine knew inside that she meant her apology. She knew exactly why she was remorseful - why she felt sorry. Eyeing the girl, Christine sighed.

_Someday, you'll understand. _

They left the cemetery, wordless. Christine had felt the atmosphere leave her instantly and suddenly, she felt lighter. She did not know why - nor how, but it did give her a sense of peace knowing she had done this. _I shall hope to return again_, Christine's thoughts whispered. She knew she would - of course - but how long this return should take? She did not know. To be honest, Christine did not know very much. All she knew was that she was relying on Erik for everything.

And sooner or later, she would have to consume this thought with an open heart. She knew how word was slowly beginning to float about Rosalie's _demise. _Luckily, it had not been so prominent and escaped the news this morning. All she knew was that God was giving her _time. _The hotel had not uttered a word. Everything was signed to _her _name. But they had not batted an eyelid. The chance card had been handed to her and she was being given a day of freedom.

Now it was running out rapidly. They were to spend the rest of the day in their room - to count up the hours until the concealment of night when they were to leave it all behind.

* * *

><p>The strategy was simple. Christine and her offspring shall reside with him until she found herself an alternative arrangement. <em>Yes<em>, perhaps it was not simple at all. It was abrupt - if not downright ridiculous. Erik was certain her dear Vicomte must be rotating in his grave.

But he was not sure of any other substitute to that plan. It seemed to be the simplest, and the one that fitted the speed of which they were in pursuit of this seperation from the grasp of Paris. Grimly, a halo of gossip had already began to appear in spots about Christine's daughter and so - Erik knew that tonight must be the night they faded from the city backdrop. He was also sure that _they_ would attempt to locate where it was he hid; if he continued to lurk in the alleys too often, the risk would amplify to a greater amount as more people would see him. It was imperative that they left. Now.

The timing of this was something Erik had been stunned by. It occurred to him now that it was not only a few weeks ago when he had been sitting alone, numbly minding his own miseries and drinking away his troubles. _Now_, he had found Christine! His dear Christine... and he was to come away with her. He was to have her within his reach once more. Of course, there were additions to the occasion - the largest one being in the form of her blonde _offspring_. A child was going to leave with them. For Christine, he should do anything; this proved it.

Lingering at night was something he was used to but Erik could not deny that something about Paris gave him apprehension. He was being foolish of course as he knew _why _Paris concerned him so, but the city itself was not as wondrous as people dreamt of. It was filled with wretchedness... sin... and _greed_. He was pleased to be groped away from it once more. There was a stench of its wickedness wherever he went - maybe returning home would slip that away.

Approaching the stables, his hooded cloak hid him fully as he conversed with the evidently intoxicated shophand.

"I _told _you...Monsieur. _All _our carriages are _t-t-taken..._" slurred the man who still held his half empty glass, "d-don't be...s-so..."

"It should be wise to _give _what I require, Monsieur." Erik stated wryly.

The man laughed - sound raspy and overplayed, "Is t-that s-so? Well l-let me _tell _y-you somethin'..."

Erik had to detain a sneer as the man almost stumbled. He merely breathed out, noting that the shophand was obviously overlooking the various horses and carriages that filled his establishment. The masked man felt his throat dessicate with disgust as the inebriated man's eyes began to roll back - a sign of his stomach planning to release its contents soon. He was much too old to drink anyway. Erik observed that it would not be long now before death finally claimed him. His skin colour indicated to some growing ailment. So why _drink_?

He must be the type to speed up the process. Erik had to congratulate him for trying to toy with the Almighty. He had tried the very same many times. But in the end, it was childish play; everyone had a time. He knew that now. He had to be here for Christine. And this _imbecile _could not waste any more of his seconds if he was to remain unharmed -

"Gold." Erik pressed a coin onto the table, watching the man's eyes light up instantly at the shiny object. _Perfect. _The masked man continued, producing coin after coin (_seemingly _from mid air) until the drunken man could barely stand up from sheer excitement,

"T-that's a-a-astound-ding... t-take y-your pick k-kind Monsieur..." The shophand stammered, not believing his luck. He marvelled at the spectacle, rotting teeth spread in a nauseating smile.

"Merci, kind gentleman." Erik had chosen the carriage earlier and had opted for the one already prepared - possibly for a customer in the inn behind. Tightening the hold of his cloak, he began to ride off into the cold night - taking caution of the icy road beneath.

Progressing down the road a few metres, he swiftly looked back at the elderly shophand who was inspecting the _one _gold coin - examining it with his rugged jaw open. He must be wondering where the pile of gold coins had gone! _Fool. _Drunken, _fool. _

Erik sighed. It seemed human stupidity only worsened as one aged.

* * *

><p>"I am afraid that he shall be fleeing Paris."<p>

"_Why _are you afraid? Are you not thrilled by the idea of a chase?"

The other man seemed to hiss, slamming on the table with a crippled hand, "I grow _weary _of chasing, Marcel." He flinched as the other man chuckled softly and with deep amusement; defeated, he returned to the other side of the table, simmering as he spoke, "He came to you; it should have been done."

Palely, the other paused his laughter. His snow-like hair seemed to glow against the background of the tavern. The tone that was used to utter the next few words were both icy and grave:

"_I _decide what should have been done." A noise - perhaps a snarl intruded before the man continued, his tone instantly switching to one of eerie happiness, "There is only so much of _France_, one can hide in, brother. Fear is unnecessary."

Silence. The man then smiled; his eyes glowing with excitement, "And, I am certain he is _very_ aware of that." His long, thin fingers began to flex and curl - as if grappling an object. How fun it was! How fun this shall _be. _The chase - how could one not be exultant at the very matter? Inside, he knew how close victory was now. How sweet the smell! Another smile spread across his face - a nauseating, corrupted mix of feeling.

His brothers had no need to worry; anxiety was for the doubtful and faith was something they pledged to him.

He knew his capabilities and how he would _joyfully _suffocate France until he had what he wanted. The prize he so aimlessly _hungered _for. And it was all very simple really -

Erik's dead, mangled body in front of him. Right, where it belonged.

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN:**

Ew, how creepy is that last line? I must say, my late-night writings are becoming a bit eerie. Anyway, goodness gracious guys - how many times do you knock me over jovial with your lovely comments? You are all so good to me and I hope to repay you all with a satisfactory chapter every time. Thank you for clinging on! I'm a bit weird, I know. Christine is very sad and sorry I haven't made her happy - but Erik/Christine FLUFFYMACHINE will come in due course. My Erik is quite fluffy; he's just a bit sad too. And dark. And Rosa hating. But he'll come around! Yes, he is in dire need of some company... god you should see his house. [You will soon!]

And, HIYA HONG KONG! I went to Hong Kong two years ago, actually! Gorgeous region. Gorgeous weather. Only for three days which was a real bummer, but I'd love to go again. And I'm sure you'd love it over here! (Everyone's gone a bit gaga over the Olympics ;)) - You're going to love Her Majesty's ElyseFray111, it's a quaint, cute little theatre. Hopefully the weather will be nice when you come! It's so unpredictable. Jealous! Let me know how London goes when you go & get back (I'll remember to ask :D) - visit umm.. Leicester Square. XD I go there far too often.

Awe, LadyCavalier - you'll visit us down here soon, I'm sure! Olympics anyone? :DD Haha, I have to say - I do have the annoying stereotypical English accent. But I'm pretty much the only one in my school XD Embarassing. We also say, "VAHSE" instead of "va-y-se" (vase) and "tap" instead of "faucet?" "fridge" instead of refridgerator... "telly" instead of tv XD oh dear, we go on. Awe, well remember school comes first! I can barely juggle but I just have an hour or two of intense writing in my day haha. I'm sure you'll cope wondrously ;) It's a human instinct. Haha, its the same here with boys and theatre - but they don't get bullied so much in my school, as long as they could actually sing! Oh, and we love football here. Soccer there? If you don't like football as a boy in my family - you're a changeling. XD That's my dad, for you.

So in a few days time - I'll be in Turin (:'( ) but I'll try and update one more time till then. Thank you so much guys. Take care of yourselves until next time! You keep my lovely muse breathing with your lovely words and encouragement. I treasure every syllable.

*topples at long A/N* - _ack, I ramble. Sorry. -spasms- _


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